


Love Beyond

by staringatthesky



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Childbirth, Death in Childbirth, Family, Fatherhood, Heartache, Heartbreak, Love, Misery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 61
Words: 207,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21756484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatthesky/pseuds/staringatthesky
Summary: Because sometimes the unthinkable happens. Married to Rosalie, busy with babies, Emmett's life is full of the family and love and laughter he had always longed for. Happy and contented, he's only looking forward until the day tragedy strikes and the centre of his world falls away. A story of love and loss, of second chance love, of family and fatherhood and friendship, of grief and hope and how you live with what seems unendurable.
Relationships: Emmett Cullen/Angela Weber, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale
Comments: 219
Kudos: 61





	1. Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, just a quick author's note to explain a few things about this one. It's a continuation of the Where the Heart Is stories, but it can probably be read quite easily as a stand-alone if you've come across it first. (Although if that's the case – you could go and read Where the Heart Is! It's lovely!)
> 
> Anyway, I have some mental health issues that can drop me into some pretty severe depressive episodes, and when I started this story I was in a pretty dark place. I was desperate to write something that would take me out of myself, but the only way I could write was if it reflected how I felt. Which was really, really bad. The WTHI world and characters were still very much at the forefront of my mind and so I took my fictional babies and thought, "What is the worst thing that can happen here?" and I wrote about Rosalie's death. Emmett's alone. The story was brutally, uncompromisingly, depressing.
> 
> I wrote for myself, because all I could write in that moment was sadness. I didn't intend to post it online. Partly because I thought everyone would hate it (and I wouldn't blame them!), partly because I loved my Where the Heart Is characters so much that I never wanted to think about them having anything but the wonderful happy ending I gave them, and partly because it grew out of such a terrible place inside me that it felt like being too vulnerable to share it.
> 
> Having said that, the story kept growing and became more than just a dumping ground for my feelings. I took my own bleakness and gave it shape as something completely different, and then I started writing my way out of it. And I took Emmett with me. He doesn't have Rosalie, but that doesn't mean he has nothing, or that his life has no meaning or joy or hope for the future. I wanted to challenge the prevailing Twilight narrative of one-true-love-only-suicide-or-revenge-the-only-option-when-one-dies. (Which is hard to do, because Emmett and Rosalie are my OTP hardcore – I love every version of their relationship and they will always belong together in my mind! This story does have Emmett with someone else and writing that feels bizarre.)
> 
> So with all that, in the end I've decided to share it. It won't be everyone's cup of tea (and I'll understand if people would rather leave WTHI where I finished it), but if you like some seriously gut-wrenching misery, heartbreak and hurt, then you've got it in spades here! But it's also a story of healing. It's a story of family – the other Cullens are all here and there's loads of Daddy!Emmett. It's a story of hope and family and love, and the second chances that sometimes come along when you've lost everything. I hope you like it.
> 
> ~ Rebecca

“I wish I didn’t have to wash it off.” Daisy admires her tiger face paint in the bathroom mirror as she cleans her teeth. “You do better Halloween faces than any of the store masks.”

I slather some more cleanser onto Mac’s face, smearing the Spiderman face I’d painted that morning. “You guys looked awesome. But we have to wash it off or it’ll end up all over your pillows and just be a smudged mess by morning.”

Noah, his face already pink and shiny where I’ve scrubbed off his red panda face, spits out his toothpaste. “What about the Things’ blue hair?”

“Well, that’s going to have to wait until they have a bath tomorrow I think,” I say. “It’s pretty late now and Mommy is putting them to bed.” At least Bram and Zeke’s Thing One and Thing Two costumes were simply their pyjamas – a swipe with a face washer and baby toothbrush and we could put them in their bed and steal all their Halloween candy for ourselves.

I finish cleaning Mac’s face and beckon Daisy. “Come on tiger, let me clean that off. And you two,” I add in the twins direction as they start heading off to bed. “The Halloween candy stays downstairs on the kitchen table. ALL the candy, got it? So whatever you hid under your bed McCarty, you go and bring back downstairs!”

“How did you _know?_ ” Daisy giggles, scrunching her eyes closed as I wipe off her makeup.

I laugh. “Mac’s not as sneaky as he thinks he is! Now little bug, you’re all clean, so say goodnight to Mom and run upstairs to bed.”

I quickly scrub my own face clean of face paint, and then toss all the make up smeared wipes into the trash before I head upstairs. Daisy is already in bed, her wave light on, and I kiss her forehead and say goodnight.

Even though it’s late, the big twins are still hyped up on candy and Halloween excitement and are bouncing off the walls in the next bedroom, and it takes some time to settle them down. In the end I put on a bedtime story podcast and sit with them, combing my fingers through Mac’s dark curls and Noah’s fair straight locks until they’re both half asleep, before kissing them goodnight and creeping from the room.

Downstairs I find Rosalie in Bram and Zeke’s room, lying on the mattress on the floor that they sleep on together. The babies are stretched out beside her, Zeke chewing on the ear of a stuffed cat while Bram grips the tail. The hand painted skeleton t-shirt I made for her, with a little foetal skeleton curled up over her enormous belly, is glowing faintly in the dark.

“You okay?”

“I can’t get up.” She sounds exhausted. “Why do we make these babies sleep on the floor?”

“Because they don’t fit in the crib together any more, and they’re only ten months old and will fall off a big bed.” I kneel down beside her. “Here, let me help you up.”

“It can’t be long now.” Rosalie cups her hands under her bulging midsection. “Walking around trick-or-treating tonight should help move things along; she’s so low it feels like she’ll fall out if I sneeze.” She sighs. “I know my due date is still a couple of days away but the twins all came at eight months- I’ve never had to go forty weeks with a pregnancy and I am so over it!”

I hug her. “I know. Let’s go raid the kids’ Halloween candy and then I’ll rub your back for you.”

“Sounds good.” Rosalie closes the baby gate on the twins’ room and grins at me. “You can rub something else if you want?”

“Seriously?” I can’t help laughing. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Maybe.” Rosalie trails a hand across my face. “You were a pretty sexy wolf tonight. And…okay, I’m sick of being pregnant and sex can get labour going so come on, help a girl out here!” she ends with a laugh.

“Oh, I’m more than willing to help you out. When have I ever said no to you?” And I take her into my arms and kiss her, because this is Rosalie and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. “Beautiful girl, you don’t even have to ask…you know how much I love you.”

So I take her to our room and once again we give ourselves over to each other, and the tender passion of what we are together. Sure, sex at nine months pregnant is crazy awkward, but there’s laughter and closeness and bliss in it still, and above all else there is love. So much love for this beautiful girl who has been the centre of my world for almost twenty years. I fall asleep spooning her, the scent of her hair in my nose, feeling the baby move under the great swollen round of her belly as I lay my arm over her.

Rosalie’s restless during the night, finding it hard to get comfortable, getting up and down to the bathroom. I sleep through most of it, although when I wake early in the morning to find her gone I get up and go looking for her. I find her in the living room, rocking her hips in slow circles on the exercise ball, the Little Mermaid playing quietly on the tv in the background. She’s wearing her Halloween skeleton t-shirt, and her hands rest over the painted bones of the foetus.

“Are you okay?”

She gives me a half-smile. “Depends on your version of okay…but I hope you’re ready for baby number six, because she’s on her way.”

“You should have woken me up!” I cross the room and kneel in front of her. “What can I do?”

Rosalie cups my face in her hands and kisses me. “Nothing right now. The contractions are regular but not too strong…you may as well go back to bed and get some more sleep. I’ll call you if I need you.”

I don’t go back to bed though. Instead I sit in the coffee table behind Rosalie on the exercise ball, brushing her hair in between contractions and pressing hard against her lower back when the pains come. By the time the credits roll she’s pushing against my hands much harder and more frequently, and her formerly slow, even breathing is sometimes irregular. When the next contraction hits and she makes a noise I lean forward and kiss the back of her neck.

“This seems to be kicking up a notch. I think we might need to go to the hospital soon. Should I call Esme to come over?”

Rosalie nods and I go back to my room and grab my phone, dialling Esme who picks up almost immediately.

“Emmett? What’s happening?”

“Feel like babysitting today?” I try and sound light, but I can’t stop the idiotic grin that’s spreading over my face. “Your newest granddaughter seems to have decided that today’s going to be her birthday.”

“Oh, wonderful! How’s Rosalie doing? Are we in a big rush or do I have time to shower? Carlisle….Rosalie’s in labour!” I hear Esme shift the phone away from her mouth and shout for Carlisle.

“She’s okay. You can probably shower, but don’t take too long. Her water hasn’t broken, but the contractions are regular and getting stronger,” I say.

“Great, we’ll be over as soon as we can.”

I check on Rosalie, who is now playing the singalong version of The Little Mermaid and frowning, and then have a quick shower myself. When I’m finished and dressed I go into the living room to find Rosalie gritting her teeth and rocking on the exercise ball with Daisy hanging off her arm, and Mac and Noah jumping on the couch and demanding breakfast.

“Here,” I say, grabbing the pumpkin buckets off the kitchen table. “Eat Halloween candy.”

Mac and Noah whoop and grab for the chocolate, but Daisy’s eyes flash from me to Rosalie, going as big as saucers. “For breakfast? _Really_?”

“Yes.” Rosalie closes her eyes for a moment, and I can see the shape of her belly changing as another contraction grips her. “Go nuts.”

“Are you okay?” Daisy lays her hands against Rosalie’s forehead like an experienced, worried mother, her face creased in concern. “Because you have _never_ let us eat candy for breakfast.”

I laugh, gently taking her arm and pulling her away from Rosalie and into a hug. “Mom’s fine. The baby’s coming though, so she’s got a bit of a bellyache and needs you guys to just leave her alone, okay? Grandma and Grandpa are coming over so Mom and Dad can go to the hospital, and they’ll get you some breakfast later. But for now you can eat some candy…although you’d better save me the Skittles!”

From down the hall I hear Bram and Zeke babbling in their baby language and then rattling the baby gate on their door so I leave the others in the living room and go to tend to them. I’ve changed two diapers and am just doing up Zeke’s snaps when I hear Carlisle and Esme at the front door.

“Come on in,” I yell.

Esme joins me a second later, giving me a quick hug. “Oh Emmett, I’m so excited for you!” She doesn’t wait for a response, but hurries off in the direction of the living room.

Carlisle takes Zeke and I hoist Bram up onto my hip. “Thanks for coming. It’s been a few hours of regular contractions and they’re getting stronger. Everyone said we can be a bit more relaxed about a single birth, instead of twins, but I’d feel better if we headed into the hospital now.”

“Sounds good.” Carlisle follows me to the living room, where the children greet him effusively.

“We’re having Halloween candy for breakfast!” Mac announces. His pumpkin bucket already looks half empty, and his cheeks are bulging.

“And Mom’s having a baby!” Daisy adds excitedly. “Today!” She wraps her arms around Rosalie’s neck and hugs her. “I love you Mom! I can’t wait for my baby sister!”

Rosalie is in the middle of a contraction and Daisy’s hug is pretty obviously NOT helping, but she bites her lip for a moment and then breathes out hard before smiling a little shakily. “I love you too.”

“How about we let Mommy and Daddy get ready to go to the hospital?” Esme suggests, holding out her hand to Daisy. “I thought I might make some pancakes for breakfast?”

“Great idea,” I say, stooping down and fishing a wrapped mini chocolate bar out of Bram’s mouth. “Watch all your candy; the babies might choke on it.”

“We’ll sort it out,” Carlisle says, gingerly taking the soggy, mangled chocolate bar out of my hands. “You just worry about Rosalie for now.”

Rosalie has been holding it together in front of the kids, but once she’s in the car the mask slips and by the time we get to the hospital she’s sobbing.

“Emmett, I can’t…oh god, this hurts…”

“I know, I know…” I hate seeing her in pain. “But you’re doing great. You’re a superstar- just a little bit longer and it’ll be all over.”

I help her out of the van and we make our slow way into the hospital and up to the maternity wing. Elena is the midwife on duty and she takes one look at Rosalie and leads us straight into the birth suite.

“Good morning! How are you feeling Rosalie?”

Rosalie’s answer is nothing but a long drawn out howl as what looks like the most powerful contraction yet rips through her.

“Okay then, feeling strong contractions,” Elena says calmly. “How often?”

“Every couple of minutes,” Rosalie mutters, leaning against me and breathing hard.

Elena nods briskly. “Let’s get you up on the bed. I’ll check your dilation and get a heart trace on the baby, and you can sign the admission paperwork.”

“Never again!” Rosalie snarls at me as she kicks off her flip flops and drops her pants. “We are….NEVER…doing this again…oh FUCK.” Burying her face in the pillow she screams her way through another contraction.

“No bloody fear! The appointment for my vasectomy is booked!” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Believe me, one surprise pregnancy and six kids is enough!”

Elena waits until the contraction has passed before strapping on the monitors, sending the thump of the baby’s heartbeat echoing reassuringly through the room.

Rosalie’s eyes meet mine, her eyes bright as she smiles. “She sounds happy.”

I reach out and take her hand. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Nice strong heartbeat there. Let’s see how you’re progressing.” Elena slips on some gloves and reaches in between Rosalie’s legs. “Let’s see…I’d say you’re almost seven centimetres Rosalie, that’s brilliant.”

Another contraction mounts, and Rosalie twists away from Elena, my hand almost crushed as she grips it through the pain. We ride out the next several contractions like this, the straps monitoring the baby’s heartbeat and the strength of the contractions, Rosalie moaning and breathing hard. In between we sign the admission paperwork and the midwife fastens id bands on Rosalie’s wrist and ankle and inserts an IV lock into the back of her hand.

“I don’t want any drugs,” Rosalie says through clenched teeth.

“I know, this is just in case.” Elena fastens down the last strip of tape. “But you’re doing well and that heart rate on the baby is just about perfect, so we don’t need the continuous monitoring. Would you like me to set the tub up for you?”

Rosalie nods and pulls at the elastic belts looped around her middle. “I love hearing her heart beat, but these are driving me mad,” she mutters.

“We’ll listen regularly on the handheld Doppler,” Elena reassures her, helping her remove the monitors. “You can put some music on the sound system if you’d like.”

As Rosalie paces restlessly around the room, I connect my phone to the speakers and start the playlist she’s put together for this moment, turning it down hastily as a pounding rock beat pulses through the room. I laugh and look at her affectionately. “I thought labour music was supposed to be all relaxing instrumentals and whale sounds.”

“This is relaxing,” Rosalie grunts, “To me.” She grips the bed and moans, long and low, as another contraction rolls through her. “Oh god, this is so painful…is that bath ready yet?”

It takes another couple of contractions before the tub is filled. I help Rosalie step into it, and she sinks down into the water with a long sigh. “That feels good.”

Elena checks the baby’s heart rate again with a waterproof Doppler. “Great,” she says, making a note in the chart. “I’m going to leave you to it for a while. Rosalie, keep doing exactly what you’re doing, and Emmett, use the call button if you need anything.”

Left alone, I flip off the bathroom light and sit on a small stool by the tub. In the dimness I lean over the side so that Rosalie can lay her head on my shoulder as she reclines, and I gently kiss her hair and feel the beat of her heart under my hand. For a moment, caught between contractions, the two of us are quiet and still.

“I love you,” I say softly. “Let me know if there’s anything you want me to do.”

“I love you too.” Rosalie’s eyes are closed, her concentration focussed inwards. The warmth of the water, the shadowy room and my arms around her has relaxed her, and even as I see her belly tighten and bulge with another contraction she only flexes her feet and breathes a little deeper as it passes.

I’ve never been at a birth like this. When it was Daisy it was Alice in labour, and the room had been crowded with family. Rosalie had fought for vaginal births for the twins and, although the labours had been uncomplicated and the births as straightforward as these things could really be, with two babies involved it had been a much more high-risk proposition. There had been constant monitoring and a stream of medical staff, and a sense that we were always half a minute away from drama. This time it’s quiet, and although Elena comes in and out regularly to listen to the baby’s heart rate and check Rosalie’s vitals, most of the time it’s just the two of us, together in the strangely dreamlike intimacy of the warm, dark room.

It gets harder later on. Contractions are strong and almost constant, and Rosalie hangs over the side of the tub, her eyes closed, keening through the pain. I pour hot water over her back and kiss her forehead and tell her how strong she is, how well she’s doing, how soon it will be all over and we’ll have our baby in our arms. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she smiles at me and grips my hand and kisses my fingers. Her strength as she endures the agony and works to bring our baby into the world astounds me.

I tell her that I love her. Again and again, I tell her that I love her.

When the time comes Rosalie pushes, hard and focussed, and then almost before I know it there is one final heave, one last exultant yell, and our baby girl enters the world. Her eyes open under the water and I reach in and scoop her up, as slick and slippery as a fish, feeling her chest expand as she takes her first breath. She opens her mouth up and wails, and my eyes burn with tears as I lay her into Rosalie’s arms.

“Oh baby, oh hello little girl…” Rosalie’s eyes are shining, her face luminous with happiness as she cradles our daughter close to her, kissing her face and smoothing her hands over her vernix smeared skin. “Oh Emmett, look at her…”

“She’s beautiful.” I choke out, kissing Rosalie and cupping my hand around the baby’s back. She’s not crying now, held close against her mother and feeling her heartbeat, the warm water soothing and familiar to her, she’s blinking around with bewildered blue eyes. “I love you Rosa-girl…and you too little one. Or…not so little one.” Compared to the newborn twins or even Daisy, the baby looks enormous.

I grab my phone and take a video of Rosalie and the baby in the tub, capturing forever the magic of this perfect moment. My beautiful wife and our brand new daughter, our lives made whole in this sacred moment of birth.

“Holly Esme,” Rosalie whispers. “Look Emmett, it’s Holly…oh sweet baby, I love you…look what we did, Emmett, look at our beautiful girl…”

She kisses the baby and laughs, and kisses me, tasting the salt tears dripping down my cheeks. I stop the video and hug them both, heedless of the water soaking into my t-shirt, too happy to notice anything but the feeling of love making my heart swell. All the angst and heartache and worry of our long journey to get to this point…it fades away to nothing in the beauty and bliss of this moment.

Until it all goes to hell.


	2. Freefall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say that birth REALLY doesn’t usually go this way. If childbirth is not your thing, if medical drama is not your thing, this chapter is going to be rough going. It doesn’t end well.

“Rosalie, I think we need to get you out of the tub now.” Elena the midwife bends over the tub beside me. “I’m going to cut the cord, then give the baby to Anna – Holly, did you say? – and then Emmett and I will help you out, okay?”

I step back, only then noticing the way the water Rosalie is sitting in is now an ominous rust colour. “Shit,” I say in alarm.

“It’s okay Emmett, blood disperses in water and it can look like more than it is,” Elena says easily. “Even so, I’d like to get you out of the water Rosalie, so we can see what’s happening.”

Her voice is calm, but her movements are quick as she attaches an umbilical clamp close to Holly’s navel and she doesn’t ask before she snips through the cord herself and immediately hands the baby over to Anna. “Take Holly into the next room and press the call button, we might need some assistance in here.”

I stoop over, offering Rosalie my arm. “Come on Rosa-girl, let’s get you out.”

Elena supports Rosalie from the other side as we help her to stand in the tub. The water cascades off her body when she rises, but as she steps over the edge of the tub on shaky legs it’s not only water that’s running down her thighs and staining the bathmat crimson.

“I’m really cold.” Rosalie’s teeth are chattering.

I grab a towel and bundle her up, rubbing her arms briskly. “Better?”

Rosalie shakes her head and leans against me with a low moan. “Ohhh…this still hurts.” Her hands press into her slack belly, and a gout of blood splatters onto the tile floor from between her legs.

“These contractions will deliver the placenta,” Elena tells her. “But we want that to happen sooner rather than later I think…sit on the toilet and try and empty your bladder, we don’t want that holding things up.”

Rosalie staggers to the toilet and sits down, gripping her stomach and leaning forward, half crying. “I can’t…this _really_ hurts.”

It sounds like she’s peeing, but it’s not until she reaches blindly towards me and pulls herself to her feet, muttering, “I don’t need to go,” that I realise it’s blood flowing out of her. And it’s not stopping.

_This isn’t supposed to be happening._

Rosalie is shivering, her body trembling so hard she can barely walk, and I practically carry her out of the bathroom and into the delivery room. 

I try not to notice the trail of blood she leaves behind her.

Elena and I manhandle Rosalie up onto the bed, and there is no peace and gentleness now. The magic of birth, the brilliance of watching our daughter enter the world, has all been shattered, subsumed under the wave of horror of what’s happening now. I’ve seen five babies born before, but I’ve never seen anything like _this._

I’m pushed aside as other medical staff join Elena. There are injections, sharp needles stabbed into Rosalie’s thigh, then an IV is hooked up to the prepared hep-lock and fluids and more drugs are pushed directly into her veins. There are hands on her, reaching in between her legs, pushing down onto her swollen belly, making her scream and my own stomach turn.

And still the blood keeps coming.

“Give her the baby,” someone says. “She wants to breastfeed, maybe that…”

The put Holly into her arms and I step forward then, because Rosalie’s face is as white as the pillow behind it and her arms are shaking so much that she can barely curve them around the baby. I wrap arms around both of them, pulling aside Rosalie’s bra and positioning the baby so that she can latch, holding the three of us together.

“It’s all right,” I say hoarsely to Rosalie. “It’s all right…please…please...”

I don’t know what I’m asking.

They keep working on her. I don’t understand half of what’s happening, only that it’s something about the placenta. There’s an OB in here now too, and the controlled urgency of earlier is giving way to panic. I hear the word _haemorrhage_ and then I hear the word _surgery._ Rosalie says my name, her voice slurred and her eyes glazed and dull, before she goes slack under my arms, her head lolling heavily against my shoulder. Holly loses the nipple and cries, and over by the wall someone shouts into the phone.

The whole room smells like blood.

“She’s out…get the baby away…we’ve got to get her downstairs…NOW!”

Someone shoves Holly at me and then they’re sticking monitors on Rosalie’s chest where the baby’s head was just seconds ago. There’s another IV started, but this time the bag hanging up is dark red. And then there’s another gurney in the room and they transfer Rosalie to it, already moving towards the door as they throw a sheet over her motionless body. By the time they hit the hallway they’re running and I’m left behind, staring at a room that looks like a murder scene. In my arms, my newborn daughter cries for her mother and my life goes into free fall.

“Emmett?” It’s Anna, the young midwife, and she touches me gently on the arm and tries to smile. “I thought we might go to a different room to do the newborn assessments?”

“What just happened?” My voice is almost unrecognisable.

“Come with me and we’ll talk about it.” Anna takes Holly from me and puts her onto the baby warmer table. “You don’t want to stay in here.”

I follow Anna and the baby to a new room, which has a window overlooking the hospital courtyard and smells like lemon-scented bleach. Looking at the sun I think it must be close to noon.

“Beautiful big baby here,” Anna says. “Holly, wasn’t it, Emmett? Nine pounds ten ounces…wonderful.”

“That’s giant,” I say, half dazed. “Daisy was only six pound one and the twins were smaller than that. This one is practically a toddler, I don’t know how Rosalie…” My voice catches. _Rosalie._ “Anna, what happened in there? Where’s Rosalie now?”

Anna takes a deep breath. “Rosalie had a retained placenta. I don’t know why, but the placenta failed to detach properly, which as you saw led to a lot of bleeding. They’ve taken her down to surgery so they can anaesthetise her and deliver it.”

The door opens behind her and another midwife comes in, carrying the overnight bag containing our things that I’d left in the birth suite, as well as another transparent plastic bag holding Rosalie’s discarded clothes and flip flops and the phone I’d had attached to the speaker system. “I brought your things out of the other room,” she says, placing the bag on the portable table and handing me my phone. “Hi Emmett, I’m Louise. Has Anna talked to you about what’s going on with Rosalie?”

“She’s gone to surgery to get the placenta out,” I say uncertainly.

Louise nods. “Yes. They’ll try and remove it manually, but you do need to be prepared for the possibility that, if the bleeding is too severe, they may have to perform an emergency hysterectomy.”

I shrug. “As long as she’s okay…it doesn’t matter.”

I don’t miss the look that passes between Louise and Anna then.

“Well, let’s finish making sure Holly is okay,” Anna says, a strained note of brightness in her voice. “She’s a pretty one! Nine pound ten Lou, do you want to get the vitamin K shot for me?”

The two of them move quietly, measuring and weighing and testing, talking softly to each other and cooing at Holly. Knowing that Rosalie will despise seeing the baby wearing a generic hospital onesie when she gets back, I reach into the bag and find the tiny clothes she’s chosen for the baby’s first outfit.

“We’ll get her dressed for you,” Anna says gently, taking the clothes. “Is there someone you want to call? Someone who could maybe come down and wait with you for news?”

I fumble for my phone and hit my contacts. Edward. I know he’s at work today and the chances he’ll answer are slim, but I still try. “Edward, it’s me…can you call me when you get this? The baby’s here but Rosalie’s been taken to surgery…can you call me? Please?” I look at Anna. “My brother’s a surgeon here…Edward Cullen? I just left a message, but maybe you could…I know he’s working today so…maybe you know how to contact him here?”

She and Louise exchange glances. “I’ll try and get hold of him,” Louise says at last. “Edward Cullen, right? I’ll call around and see if I can find him.” 

I breathe a sigh of relief and turn back to my phone.

“Emmett?” Carlisle answers expectantly. “Esme and I are just giving the children lunch. What’s happening?”

In the background I can hear the kids, a muffled blend of talk and laughter, a yell from Bram or Zeke, and for a moment my throat closes. I want to be at home with them, not here, not in a maternity room where Rosalie’s absence looms like a black hole of fear.

“Emmett?” Carlisle’s voice has deepened into concern. “Is something wrong…Emmett?”

“Can you come?” I say, my voice cracking. “The baby’s here, she’s okay, but Rosalie…there was a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” The sound of the children fades away and I guess Carlisle moves out of the kitchen.

“A placenta thing – it didn’t come out? Do you know about that? I didn’t know…I mean, she had the baby and it was all fine but then…sweet Jesus Carlisle, _there was so much fucking blood_ …they’ve taken her off to surgery but they said they might have to do a hysterectomy and…I don’t know…there was blood everywhere and…” I hear the increasing panic in my voice as I ramble on, and I bite down savagely on my fist to make myself stop. “Please…can you come?”

“I’m on my way,” Carlisle says without hesitation. “I’ll try and call Edward and see if he can find anything out. Hang in there Emmett, I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

“Emmett?” Anna asks, as I hang up the phone. “We’ve done all the checks, and Holly is perfectly healthy. I’ve got her all dressed too- do you want me to go and get some formula and you can give her a feed?”

I shake my head. “No. Rosalie doesn’t want her to have any formula…she’ll want us to wait til she can breastfeed.”

Anna and Louise look at each other again. I really wish they’d stop doing that.

“Are you sure? We can’t wait too long to give her something, and Rosalie…well, she might not really feel up to nursing right away,” Anna says delicately.

“No,” I repeat stubbornly. “Rosalie doesn’t want her to have any formula, so I’m going to wait and see what she says. And Holly already nursed for a little bit, so she’s had _something_ anyway…she’s not going to starve while we wait for her mother to come back.”

I don’t think too hard about how much milk Holly may have actually been able to get, nursing from a haemorrhaging mother on the brink of unconsciousness.

“Well, okay,” Anna says at last. “I know breastfeeding is important to Rosalie; we’ll give it a little while.” She marks something else on the chart and then hooks it over the end of the bassinet. “Do you want to hold her now?”

I take the blanket wrapped bundle and sit down, tucking her into the crook of my elbow. She’s awake and alert, regarding me solemnly from wide blue eyes ringed with heavy dark lashes, and she fits into my arms like she’s always belonged there. She’s a beautiful baby, with so much fair hair I could practically make pigtails, and as she opens and closes her mouth I see a dimple appearing and disappearing in one cheek.

“Hey baby girl,” I say softly.

Anna perches a little uneasily on the opposite armchair. “Are you okay, Emmett? That was a pretty traumatic scene in there…do you want to talk about it? Either to me, or I can call someone else…”

“I’m okay.” The last thing I want to do is talk about the horror I’ve just seen. “I just really want to know how Rosalie’s doing. Can you find out?”

“I’ll go and look into it.” Anna jumps up. “And Lou will see if she can find your brother. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

Left alone with the baby, I let out a breath I barely realised I’d been holding. My stomach is killing me. How long can it take to get a placenta out? It had just happened after the twins were born, two placentas slithering out after Mac and Noah, and then, only ten months ago, a curious single shared one for Bram and Zeke. I’d drawn that one later, fascinated by the branching veins that had sustained their entwined life from the beginning. I remember that I had thought it was weirdly beautiful…there had been nothing like this.

Feeling sick, I take my phone and try once again to call Edward, hanging up without leaving a message because I don’t know what to say. I don’t have words for the black dread that’s crawling through my heart.

Holly makes a tiny mewing noise, and I feel myself soften as I look at her. She sounds like a kitten. I trace a finger over her round cheek and over the little snub nose, and she mouths at my hand.

“Are you getting hungry?” I say softly. “Mommy will be back soon, and you can have some milk. She’s going to be sorry she’s missing your first hour or so, but that’s okay, she’ll be back soon…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Fucking hell baby Holly– shit, don’t tell your mommy I was swearing, she won’t like that –but damn I’m sorry it all went down like this! But it’s all right, we’re going to be fine…how about we take some pictures, huh? Maybe a video, then we can show your big sister and big brothers. There are a whole lot of people who’ve been waiting to meet you…”

I lay her down on my thighs, only then noticing the spatter of bloodstains on my jeans. Crushing the image of a blood soaked bathroom floor that rises unwanted in my mind I hastily unwrap the baby and drape the blanket over my lap so that I can’t see it anymore. “Don’t worry about that,” I say, ignoring the tremor in my hands. “We’ll just…cover it up…no one else needs to see that. We don’t want them to worry...”

I take a deep breath and concentrate on taking some photos and a quick video. Holly mouths at my hand with increasing intent and desperation, eventually beginning to cry, a thin, reedy wail when it doesn’t yield the milk she’s seeking. I pick her up and pace, patting her back and letting her suck on my finger, hoping to soothe her.

_Hush baby girl, mommy will back soon. Hold on little one, it’s all going to be okay…_

My heart leaps when I hear the door open but it’s only Louise coming in, holding a bottle of formula.

“I’m sorry Emmett, but we can’t make Holly wait anymore. I know it’s not what Rosalie wanted, but we have to do what’s best for the baby in these circumstances.”

I shrug helplessly. “Yeah, of course.”

I let Louise take the baby from my arms and she quickly checks her over, taking her temperature and looking at her fingers and umbilical. When she’s satisfied she swaddles Holly efficiently and then picks her up gently. “Do you want to feed her now, or would you rather I took her back to the nursery and we looked after her for you?”

“I’ll do it.” I settle into the armchair, touching Holly’s cheek with the bottle nipple until she opens her mouth. “Do you know what’s going on with Rosalie? How long will it be til she comes back?”

“We’ve got hold of your brother. He’s on his way up from the surgical floor and will be able to talk to you soon,” Louise says, adding something to Holly’s chart and then heading for the door. “He shouldn’t be too long.”

It’s only once she leaves the room that I realise she didn’t answer my question.

Holly feeds slowly, drinking only half the bottle before she nods off to sleep. I continue to hold her, listening to her quick, light breathing, and feeling the bite of my teeth on my knuckles. All I can do is wait.

When Edward does arrive, with Carlisle behind him, at first I’m relieved. The midwives said he’d been down in surgery, so he’ll be able to tell me what’s happening. He’ll know how Rosalie is, and he’ll be able to settle my mind as to when she’s coming back up here to hold our baby. And this has been awful and scary and not what we wanted, but it won’t matter when she’s here with Holly in her arms, and we can be together and find the magic of the first day with our beautiful new baby girl.

But they come in and Edward kneels at my feet, and his face is grey. Carlisle drags over the other armchair so he can sit beside me, his shoulder against mine as he leans closer, and his face looks like he’s aged a thousand years. They put their hands on me, and I can hardly breathe for the sudden, blinding terror, and it’s like time stops as Edward clears his throat.

“Emmett…I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this… _my god, I’m sorry_ …but they bought her down to surgery and did everything they could…everyone tried so hard, but…they couldn’t save her. I’m sorry Emmett…Rosalie died.”

And just like that, the world ends. 


	3. The Unendurable

The thing is though, that the world _doesn’t_ end.

_Rosalie died._

“No.”

The ground is falling out from under my feet and the whole centre has been sucked out of me, but the world continues on.

_Rosalie died._

“No.”

The world just twists and shifts and changes around me, throwing me without warning or mercy into an alternate reality where the unthinkable is possible.

_Rosalie died._

_“_ No _.”_

“They really did everything they could. I was there…I didn’t treat her, but I watched…she had good people working on her, but it just wasn’t enough,” Edward says. “I’m sorry.”

His words echo senselessly in my ears, and I shake my head to clear it. “But that’s not…no…it’s…fucking NO, Edward…”

Edward’s hand is tight over mine. “Yes, Emmett. I know this is hard to hear, I know…but Rosalie haemorrhaged after the birth and they did everything they could to stop it, but the blood loss was too extreme. There wasn’t any way to save her.”

“No…no…NO.” It’s the only thing I can say, the same word repeated stupidly as the idea of Rosalie’s death floats high above me, casting a shadow that I don’t want to see. “No…you can’t…no…she didn’t…she just had a fucking _baby_ , she didn’t…NO.”

Carlisle sobs. He reaches for Holly and I let him take her, watching in disbelief as he cradles her close and kisses her, tears running down his face. This man, my father, who has always been so strong and steadfast, weeping over my newborn daughter…my hands are in my mouth, teeth cutting into my skin, as an icy rock settles in my chest.

_No. No. No._

I can’t breathe. I push away from them, but there is nowhere to go to get away. Nowhere in this room set up for joy, for the delirious happiness of new life is there a space where I can come to grips with the very opposite.

_Rosalie died._

_No._

“I don’t understand how this can have happened? How can this be true?” I’m breathing in great gulps of air, feeling dizzy and panicked. “I mean, we just had a baby and…how can she have died from that? It’s not the fucking dark ages! Rosalie had great prenatal care and the birth went fine, look at the baby- she’s perfect…it was all FINE, Edward, it was FINE so what the FUCK HAPPENED? How do you have a baby and it’s all PERFECT and then somehow you just go and DIE? THAT DOESN’T FUCKING HAPPEN, EDWARD!”

Edward is crying too now, but he doesn’t shy away from my anger. Instead he comes closer and hugs me fiercely, his strength and warmth grounding me in this horrifying vertiginous world. I let him hug me, crushing him in my own grip, burying my face in his shoulder as I try to gain control. Finally I pull back, grabbing Edward’s face in between my hands, foreheads together as I gaze searchingly into his eyes.

“Please Edward…tell me how this happened. It _can’t_ happen…not to Rosalie,” I choke out. “Not Rosalie… _please._ I mean, people don’t die from having babies anymore, they just don’t!”

Edward takes a deep breath. “Sometimes…they do. There’ll be an in-depth inquiry, and conclusions will be drawn. But it looks like Rosalie had placenta accreta, which is when the placenta attaches too deeply into the uterine wall. It can’t be delivered after birth, and so leads to the kind of bleeding that you saw. There’s only so much blood a body can lose before organs start shutting down…”

“Well why didn’t they just give her MORE fucking blood?”

“They did. They were giving her blood as fast as she could take it in, but that kind of haemorrhage…” Edward shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry Emmett. Once they got her down to surgery they did a hysterectomy, which was really the only option they had at that point, but they just didn’t have enough time.”

“So why did it happen? Was it…did we do something wrong? I mean, we didn’t even know she was pregnant for so long, and it came so soon after the little twins...” My teeth grind against the bones in my knuckles, and yet I barely feel it.

Edward is quick to shake his head. “No. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. Rosalie didn’t even have any of the main risk factors. The inquiry will look at how it was missed, but I think…I think it’s just one of those things that sometimes happens. And it’s shitty and unfair and…and _cruel_ …but there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.” His voice cracks.

Holly cries, a mewing little sound that draws me to her like a magnet. “It’s okay baby Holly,” I say, my voice hoarse and my hands almost rough with haste as I snatch her back from Carlisle. “It’s okay…your mommy will be okay. This is all just…just bullshit….fucking hell, you were only just _born_ , you need your mommy and…and she loves you…she wouldn’t leave you…this isn’t happening…”

Carlisle wipes his eyes, his face drawn with sorrow. “I’m sorry Emmett, I know how hard it is to hear this, to accept it…but I’m afraid it is true. _Sometimes people die._ Sometimes, we’re faced with the unthinkable…I don’t know what else to say. There isn’t anything…I love you so much, and I’m so sorry.”

I don’t look at him. I look at Holly, at her blonde hair and dark lashes, the gentle curve of her chin and the delicate whorls of her ears. “She looks like Rosalie, don’t you think?” I say distantly. “Although I think she has a dimple like mine - I saw it when she was making faces but I guess we won’t really know for sure until she starts smiling. She’s big too, yeah? Nine pound ten…that’s like over three and a half pounds bigger than Daisy was…Rosalie birthed her like a boss too, drug-free water birth like she wanted…we’re going to call her Holly – not strictly a flower name, but close enough. Holly Esme…do you think Esme will like that?”

“She’ll love it, of course she will,” Carlisle says huskily. He reaches out and strokes one of Holly’s hands, curled in a fist by her chin, and she blinks open her big blue eyes. “You’re a beautiful girl, Holly Esme, your daddy and mommy should be proud.”

_Your mommy should be proud._

_But she can’t be, because she died…she’s not here to think anything about you. She’s never going to hold you again, she’s never going to kiss your cheeks or smell that newborn smell in your hair or rock you to sleep or celebrate your milestones because she won’t BE HERE…_

For a moment I see it, the vastness of Holly’s future without Rosalie. Without her mother. For this baby, there will never be more than those few moments in her mother’s arms, slippery and warm after birth. She will live her whole life with the story of her birth being bound up with that of her mother’s death, and she will never know the reality of how much Rosalie loved her.

And it’s not just Holly. Bram and Zeke are still babies too, and they will never remember her. Even the older kids- Mac and Noah are six and Daisy is eight…how much will they remember? This is a lifetime of loss and it is unbearable.

“Where is she?” I say. “Can I…I need to see…I just…this is so fucking _wrong_ …”

“I can take you to see her,” Edward says slowly. “If you’re sure?”

“Yeah.” I jiggle Holly distractedly in my arms as she starts to cry. “Come on Holly baby, we’ll go see Mommy, yeah? See Mommy and…I don’t know…it’ll be fine…this can’t be happening…”

I know I’m not making any sense, and I don’t resist when Carlisle gently takes the baby back from me. “Holly can’t leave the maternity floor- she’s got her security tag on and she hasn’t been cleared for discharge. I’ll get the staff to take care of her in the nursery for the time being.”

He presses the call button and almost immediately Anna comes in. Her eyes are red and swollen, and when she looks at me it’s clear she’s fighting for control. “Emmett…I don’t know what to say…I’m so sorry.” Her voice quavers. “We’re all just…devastated.”

“Emmett is going to go down to the surgical floor and see Rosalie,” Carlisle tells her quietly. “The baby will need to stay in the nursery for now. I’ll be back later to do her assessments, and we’ll have to figure out a plan for when Emmett’s going to be able to take her home.”

Anna nods and takes Holly from Carlisle, laying her in the little bassinet. “We’ll take good care of her,” she promises. “Lots of hugs.”

Rosalie is not a long way away. Down the maternity unit corridor, through the security doors at the end, an elevator ride down one floor to the surgical suite, then down two short hallways and through a curtained glass door.

Travelling it feels like an odyssey.

Past the tight knot of midwives at the maternity unit desk, clustered around Anna and the bassinet containing my daughter, faces solemn with shock and disbelief and eyes damp with tears. Past a family coming through the security doors, carrying balloons and teddy bears, faces alight with smiles and laughter as they go to meet their miracle. Waiting at the elevator, only to have it open to reveal a woman clutching her swollen belly and moaning through a contraction, her partner burdened with bags and concern. Through the surgical area, where people nod at Edward in sombre recognition, and then finally to the room where Rosalie is, curtains drawn against the glass wall and door to conceal what lies within.

Edward pauses, his hand on the door handle. “You need to be prepared Emmett. They’ve taken all the tubes out, but they haven’t otherwise done anything to her. So there might be tape residue or traces of blood on her skin, maybe some needle marks. You’ll be able to see her face and touch her hands if you want to, but her body will be covered by a sheet and you can’t move that, okay?” He hesitates. “It’s just that they cut into her when they were trying to save her and…leave the blanket where it is. Okay?”

It’s as if the world stops when I step through the door. The room is cool and smells like blood, and all I can hear is the drumming of my own heartbeat.

_Rosa-girl…oh my heart…_

Rosalie has always been beautiful, and death hasn’t changed that. Her classical face, the exquisite bone structure, the delicate arched eyebrows and perfect bow lips, all so intimately familiar to me, so cherished and beloved…I stare at her, and the world narrows down to nothing but my girl and me.

“Rosalie…please.” My voice cracks. I reach out a shaking hand to touch her, cupping my palm against the curve of her cheek, my thumb brushing across her lip…but the skin is too cold and her mouth doesn’t smile and the dark lashes lie still on her white cheeks instead of opening to show me the blue eyes I’ve been gazing at with love for almost two decades…

That’s when it becomes real.

And it is unendurable.

There are no words for this. No words that can even come close to describing what this feels like, as the very centre of my world is ripped away from me and the blinding ice blue pain of loss roars. It swallows me whole and the floor rises up to meet me as I crumple, and I don’t know if the howling that surrounds me is real or only in my head. All I know is that Rosalie is dead and it is an agony beyond bearing, and I wish savagely that I could die too.

_I can’t be without you! I don’t know how!_

“Emmett, Emmett…oh my boy…”

Carlisle’s arms are fast around me, holding me close, his own body shaking with sobs. I am dully aware that the inhuman keening noise I can hear is coming from my own mouth, and I turn away and burrow blindly against my father. Edward joins us, his arms tight across my back, his damp, tear-streaked face pressed against my shoulder as he murmurs wordless comfort into my ear. It feels like an eternity that I writhe and howl and choke and they never let me go, holding me like an anchor in this inexorable tidal pull of grief, and I cling to them as the only thing that might save me.

_Rosalie. My beautiful girl. My beloved._

_My heart._

I come back to myself, still on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold tile. I stagger to my feet and, like a moth to a flame, am drawn back to the body of my Rosalie. I lean over her, kisses on her cool and unresponsive face, holding her limp hands and feeling the puncture wound of the IV on the back of it and the slightly sticky residue left from the tape that held it in place. I bend her fingers around mine and kiss her knuckles and the clock keeps ticking and the world keeps spinning and she doesn’t wake up and I try and comprehend the magnitude of what has happened here.

_I don’t want to do this without you._

Grief settles over me. It’s cold and heavy and dark, the weight of it an almost unbearable burden, but it numbs the blinding, agonising pain of my loss and I welcome that.

Rosalie’s hair is half falling out of the messy bun she had piled on top of her head. I clumsily untangle the band she used, a pink one with a Hello Kitty bead on it that must be Daisy’s, and slip it into my wrist. I gently comb out the long golden waves, mindlessly running the silky lengths of it through my fingers, until at least the front part is lying smoothly.

_You’re so beautiful…I love you…please don’t leave me._

Unlike the unfamiliar cool and slightly rubbery feel of her skin, Rosalie’s hair feels like always, and I find myself unconsciously raising it to my face and inhaling. I want the familiar scent of her but she smells of blood and hospital and death and, suddenly sickened, I drop the ribbon of hair.

Carlisle steps forward and embraces me again. “You won’t be alone,” he says. “We will be with you every step of the way – me, Esme, Edward, Alice and Jasper and Bella…you’re not alone.”

He reaches towards Rosalie and tenderly strokes her head. His face is desolate and it occurs to me briefly that Carlisle has known Rosalie from the day she was born – longer than he’s known me.

“I don’t know what to do.” My voice doesn’t even sound like me, cracked and broken and raw. “What…what do I do without her? I don’t know…what do I do now?”

“When you’re ready, we’ll take you home,” Edward says softly.

_Home._

_Home…without Rosalie._

“Daisy and Mac and Noah…how the fuck do I tell them?” I can hardly breathe for the horror I feel at the idea of inflicting this kind of agony of my children. “Oh god, their mother…what do I tell them? And Bram and Zeke…they’re fucking _babies_ , they won’t understand _anything_ except that she’s not there.”

Carlisle and Edward say nothing to that. What can they say? My children have lost their mother, and there are no words we can use that will soften that blow.

“And the new baby…” The world tilts dangerously as I think of my newborn daughter. “How can I…I can’t even feed her…”

“The baby can stay here in the hospital overnight,” Carlisle says steadily. “She needs to be seen by a paediatrician before she can be released anyway, and I think it would be better for her to be cared for here while we figure out what we’re going to do. As for the other children, we’ll talk to them with you. They’ll…we’ll take care of them.”

I don’t want to leave her. But there is only so long I can stand and stare at her beautiful, lifeless face, and eventually I turn away and take my first faltering steps into a world where Rosalie is gone.

It’s not a world I want to be in.


	4. Breaking the News

Without thinking too much, I follow Carlisle back upstairs. The head of the maternity unit comes and talks to me, but whatever she says seems meaningless. _Condolences, promise a review, they’re so sorry_ …none of it matters. I nod and gnaw on my fist and when I can’t stand it anymore I just walk away. No one stops me.

Edward catches up to me at the elevator. “Carlisle’s making arrangements for the baby,” he tells me. “He’ll meet us in the parking lot.”

We ride the elevator in silence, all the way down to the basement level where Edward guides me towards the doctors’ lot.

“The minivan’s parked on the other level,” I mutter.

Edward shakes his head, nudging me towards the third row where Carlisle has parked his Mercedes. “Don’t worry about it. Carlisle’s going to drive you home, and if you give me your keys I’ll find your van and bring it back for you.”

I hand him my keyring, the purple plaited lanyard Daisy made hanging off it and say hollowly, “It’s in the H row. We thought that would be lucky, H for Holly…” I close my eyes.

The car beeps and unlocks when Carlisle approaches. He’s carrying the bags I’d left in the maternity room, the overnight one we’d brought in and the plastic bag holding the clothes Rosalie had taken off before she’d got into the tub. I grab this from him and sink into the passenger seat, holding it tightly in my hands as Carlisle drives out of the garage and away from the hospital.

Without thinking about it I open the bag on my lap. It smells like chocolate and Rosalie, and I’m instantly transported. Trick or treating… _sweet fuck, was that only last night?_...with Rosalie wearing the skeleton t-shirt with the baby skeleton painted over her enormously swollen belly and laughing as she tickled my face with the tail from my wolf onesie. Smiling and saying thank you to everyone who stopped to tell her how adorable the little twins were, with their blue hair and Thing One and Thing Two costumes. The two of us holding hands and watching Daisy and Mac and Noah run up and down the walks with their pumpkin buckets, screaming in delighted fear at the spooky house decorations and elaborate costumes. My beautiful family, whole and happy and together…my heart aches at the thought of it, and I twist the bag closed, tightly enough that my already bruised knuckles and fingers ache.

“Dad, Dad, Dad!” Mac cannonballs off the porch and I stagger backwards as I catch him, the familiar sturdy weight of him heavy in my arms. For a moment I hold him tight, bending my face down to his messy black curls so he won’t see my face.

“Is she here?” Daisy appears on the porch, gracefully flipping from her feet to her hands and back again. “Our sister? Is our baby here? Can we go see her now?”

“Yeah, she’s here,” I say hoarsely. “Let’s go inside. I can show you a picture and…we can talk.”

I know by Esme’s face when I see her that Carlisle has told her. She reaches towards me as I pass her but I shy away, shaking my head. I know that if I let her hug me, if I let her pour out all the love and sympathy in her mother heart it will break me, and I can’t afford that now. Instead I force a smile for my kids, give kisses and hugs to the little twins as they crawl on the living room floor, and then take a seat on the sofa. Daisy and Mac and Noah crowd close, and I pull out my phone.

“Here’s your sister,” I say, pulling up the last little video I took, the baby lying on my thighs. I play it for them, and even mired in grief I feel the lightness of their happiness as they watch her. “Her name’s Holly Esme.”

“That’s what I said!” Daisy’s eyes are shining. “That’s the name I said! I found it in your plant book and I said Holly, didn’t I Daddy? Grandma, they picked my name for my baby sister!” She flings herself at Esme and then drags her over so she can watch as the kids replay the short video. “Come and see her photo…she is so, so cute…”

“Can we go to the hospital and visit now?” Mac asks.

“And visit Mommy?” Noah leans against my arm. “We made cards with Grandma this morning for Mommy and the new baby. Want to see?”

“Yeah, I’d like to but…I have to tell you something.” I clear my throat. “Something bad.”

I see the uneasiness then. Instinct draws Mac and Noah towards me, seeking comfort for what they don’t yet know, and Daisy’s grip on Esme’s hand tightens as she stares at me. The innocent trust of them just about tears my heart out, because I know that what I am about to tell them will destroy it, changing them in ways so profound they’ll be feeling it for the rest of their lives.

“Are you crying?” Noah touches my cheek uncertainly. “Daddy?”

I can’t say it. I can’t tell them that mommy isn’t coming home. I can’t do that to them.

I grew up in an abusive home. I learned early on, in harsh and difficult and sometimes brutal ways, that the world was indifferent to my personal situation. Bad things happened to me, and there was no mercy and no way to make it stop and no one who loved me enough to save me.

I never wanted that for my kids, and they’ve never had to live it. They don’t know that darkness. Their world has simple rules and predictable routines…hugs and kisses and books before bed and never having to feel hungry. And it has _people_ – so many people to love them and watch them and check in on them, siblings and grandparents and aunts and uncles and friends and teachers and coaches and a mom and dad who love them enough that family is like a fortress, keeping them safe. Until now, their monsters have been imaginary, the worst thing that happens to them being a skinned knee or missing a gymnastics trick in a meet or having trouble learning to read. Their world has always been happy and _safe_ …but now the very bedrock it’s built on is shattered and I can’t bear the thought of being the one to tell them.

“We have to tell you something about Mommy,” Carlisle says. He holds my head and kisses my forehead before he sits down beside me, so that he’s close to eye level with the big twins and Daisy. “It’s very sad and it’s going to be hard for you, but Daddy and Grandma and I love you very much and we’re all going to be here for you.” He hesitates for a moment. “Something happened to Mommy at the hospital. She got very sick, and even though all the doctors and nurses tried their hardest to fix her they couldn’t make her better. I’m so sorry, but Mommy died.”

If I thought I couldn’t hurt any more…I was wrong. The stark reality of Carlisle’s words float in the space between us, and watching the blank incomprehension on my children’s faces fade into a horrified understanding is brutal. All I can do is take them into my arms and kiss soft hair and wet cheeks and tell them that I love them, tell them that I am here to carry them when it’s hard, that I’ll never leave them.

And I know it’s a lie, because those kinds of promises mean nothing. Rosalie loved them too. She would never have chosen to leave them, but sometimes the choice isn’t there and no one is invincible.

“But Mom wasn’t even sick,” Daisy says almost inaudibly. “She only went to the hospital for having a baby, and that’s not being sick.”

“Did the baby do something to Mommy?” Noah twists a lock of hair around his fingers.

“I hate the baby.” Mac is crying so hard I can barely understand him, but the words hit like a punch to the gut. “I want Mom, not any dumb baby…why isn’t she dead instead of my mom?”

“It wasn’t the baby’s fault,” I say, ruthlessly crushing the traitorous thought that _if only…_ “You can’t blame her; she’s just a baby. Holly was born in the bathtub, just like Mommy wanted, and that part went fine. Mommy was so happy…” I see it in my mind, newborn Holly in the water and Rosalie’s exultant, luminous, happiness. “She made your mom really happy, and she’s your sister…we’re going to love her and figure out a way to take care of her.”

“But you don’t have boobs and that’s all little babies can eat!” Mac’s voice is strident with rage. “That’s what Mom said!”

“They make special milk for babies whose moms can’t give them breastmilk,” Carlisle says gently. “Like Daisy had, when she was adopted…”

“No! We need MOM!” Mac screams. He kicks out at Carlisle and pounds on me with small, dirty fists, and his fear and rage almost fills the room. “WE NEED MY MOM!”

For a moment I just let him hit me. I don’t know how to deal with his hurt, not when I feel like everything I am has been hollowed out and left only a shell. But Daisy turns away, burying her face against Esme as she cries, and Noah’s yanking on his hair so hard he’s about to pull a chunk out of his head, and so I wrap my big hands around Mac’s small flying fists and hold them tight.

“I know, I know…” I whisper, and eventually Mac stops fighting me and goes limp, crying into my neck as I hold him close, wrapping my other arm around Noah.

Bram and Zeke are disturbed by their brother’s noise and crawl over, whining as they drag on my pants to pull themselves up to standing. Carlisle lifts them onto his lap and they lurch from him to me, and he leans closer, lending me his arms and strength so that I can hold all my boys at the same time. Esme and Daisy join us, and even though we’re eight people and the sofa is more than full, Rosalie’s absence feels like a giant void, yawning at my feet. 

“I love you Em,” Esme breathes. “We’ll get through this.”

Edward comes in through the front door, looking tired and drawn. He drops the keys onto the sideboard and joins in the hug, kissing Daisy on the top of the head.

“Bella is going to leave Eliza with her dad and bring round some dinner,” he says. “She was cooking for you guys anyway, so…”

“Our mommy died,” Noah whispers to Edward, his eyes wide.

“I know, and I’m really sorry,” Edward says, combing Noah’s hair away from his face. “That’s really sad.” He opens his arms and my son climbs into them, and even in my state of muted misery it occurs to me to be thankful that I have him here to help share the weight.

The idea of ordinary life going on in any capacity in the face of this loss seems ludicrous, but with children involved there is no escaping it. Even the saddest six year olds in the world can only cry for so long before they’re squirming on laps and asking if they can watch tv and eat the rest of the Halloween candy, and as Mac is hunting through the sofa cushions for the remote the baby in my lap begins to smell distinctly unpleasant.

I carry Zeke through to his room, discovering the kind of mess in his diaper that really needs a firehose to clean it up. I do what I can with the wipes and then run a few inches of water into the bottom of the tub and sit him in it, adding Bram who crawls into the bathroom as fast as he can when he hears the water running. I let them play, watching mindlessly.

“Emmett, you don’t have to do that…let me help you.” Esme comes in, sitting on the footstool the older kids use to reach the sink when they clean their teeth. Her eyes are swollen and red, but she smiles at me and squeezes my shoulder.

“It’s okay. I suppose it gives me something to think about that’s not…that.” I pick up the rubber ducks that have fallen to the bathroom floor and float them towards the boys. “There you go.” I half smile as Bram shoves the green duck into his mouth and bites down to make it squeak.

“We were wondering what you wanted to do about telling people,” Esme says hesitantly. “We don’t want to put pressure on you in any way, but Jack and Lily need to be told, and Alice and Jasper…Jonah will have to know what has happened, and Rosalie’s work as well. Would you like Carlisle and Edward and I to take care of that for you?”

I nod dumbly, feeling the weight settle further onto me as I realise for the first time that there will be more than grief to deal with now. There will be people to tell, arrangements to be made, practicalities to be taken care of… _how am I supposed to manage this household by myself?_

“I don’t even remember the internet banking password,” I mumble, feeling the bite of my teeth against my knuckles.

“We’ll help you deal with all that,” Esme says. “Don’t worry about it – just focus on yourself and the children. That’s the most important thing right now.”

I turn back to Bram and Zeke, babbling together in the tub, and start pouring cupfuls of water over their heads to rinse out the temporary colour Rosalie put in their hair for Halloween. The twins giggle and splash and sneeze at the water running over their faces and I watch, mesmerised, as the blue colour spreads in the water. Like blood in a birth pool…I reach in and yank out the plug.

“Time to hop out.”

The twins don’t like this idea, and set up a wail as the water drains away. A moment later Esme is beside me, scooping up babies and bundling them in towels, drying them briskly with encouraging words and blowing raspberries on fat bellies until they’re both laughing again. I diaper them while they’re distracted and wrestle them into pyjamas, and it’s a blessed moment of normalcy feeling them laugh and squirm as I dress them, and then having slobbery open mouth ‘kisses’ on my cheeks as I hug them.

I carry Bram and Zeke back to the living room and drop them by the basket of baby toys. Mac and Noah are curled up against Carlisle on the sofa, the three of them watching something on tv, everyone looking exhausted but calm. Bram grabs the basket and pulls himself up to his feet, while Zeke makes a beeline on hands and knees for a pile of torn up paper someone has tossed carelessly on the floor. I hastily pick it up out of his reach.

“What’s this?” It’s cardstock, and has been drawn on by one of the children. I can make out several wobbly love hearts and messy handwriting. “Mac?”

“It was my card for Mommy and the new baby,” Mac mutters. “It was stupid anyway.”

“Mac…”

“What?” he says defiantly, scrunching further down into the sofa. “Mommy can’t have it now.”

“I didn’t rip mine.” Noah’s lip quivers. “I wanted to show you.” He holds it out to me, a piece of cardstock folded crooked in half with _I love you Mommy_ written across the front in his painstaking best kindergarten handwriting. “I drew a picture in the middle.”

 _Oh, Noah…_ He’s drawn our family. Two identical small figures for Bram and Zeke, then Daisy and Mac, with Noah holding hands in between me and Rosalie and next to her a tiny baby with a big smile. Our family.

_A family that doesn’t even fucking exist anymore._

“Oh buddy, it’s beautiful, you must have worked so hard. I really love it. Mommy will love it too…” My voice drops. “ _Would_ love it…Mommy would love it too.” And I open my arms and hold my boy while he cries.

_Fucking hell Rosalie…how am I meant to do this without you?_


	5. Moment By Moment

I move through the evening like a zombie.

Esme calls Alice and tells her the news, and even through the phone I can feel her shock and grief. She says she and Jasper will be home as soon as they can organise flights and work. She wants to talk to me but my voice dries up and in the end I just hold the phone and listen to her sob, feeling a million miles away. 

Bella arrives with Tupperware and covered casserole dishes, and I hold her while she cries and wonder when I’m going to start crying too. She serves up lasagne for dinner, the same lasagne she makes for everyone who has a baby, and I can’t even bring myself to take a bite.

I had a baby today, and I can barely even remember what she looks like.

Carlisle goes to Rosalie’s parents’ house to break the news to Jack and Lily in person. I can’t face it. I’ve had my issues with them in the past and they were pretty shitty parents to Rosalie in a lot of ways, but I don’t doubt that they love her and they’ll be devastated.

Edward borrows my phone to make a list of other people to call, and asks diffidently if I have Rosalie’s phone. I think it’s probably in the hospital bag somewhere, but I can’t bear the thought of looking through the bag that Rosalie packed and repacked with so much anticipation. Edward says he’ll look for it himself, and I tell him the passcode is Daisy’s birth date and go and lie down with Bram and Zeke while they drink their bottles and fall asleep.

The house is quiet when I leave their room. Esme has helped Mac and Noah shower and clean their teeth, and the three of them are curled up on Noah’s bed reading. Mac’s sucking his thumb and Noah’s pulling on his hair.

Next door, Daisy is nothing more than a lump under her quilt. I sit on the edge of her bed and rub her back through the fabric, and a moment later she crawls out the end, her hair sweaty and her face tear stained. My heart falls when I see that she’s clutching a book, the bookmark over halfway through.

“How am I supposed to finish Harry Potter now?” she chokes out. “Mom’s not here to read with me and I don’t want to read it by _myself_. We’re only on the second book!”

“I can read with you?” I offer lamely, knowing this will never cut it. My dyslexia makes reading aloud challenging, and while I manage pretty well with the simpler picture books after years of practise (and memorising half of the books we own), the longer novels Daisy wants to read now are more difficult. I _can_ read them, but faced with big chunks of text my reading aloud tends towards a stumbling monotone that isn’t fun for anyone. By tacit agreement, Rosalie took over the bedtime reading once the books started involving chapters.

Daisy dissolves into tears and buries her face in her pillow. I stretch out next to her and stroke her back, tracing the bumps of her spine and feeling her shuddering, hiccupping breaths.

“Maybe we could buy the audiobooks?” I suggest at last. “I’d listen with you; I liked the movies and I bet the books are better.”

“They are,” Daisy sniffs. “And that might be okay, but it won’t be…it won’t be reading it with _Mom_.” 

“I know,” I say quietly. “It won’t be reading it with Mommy.”

Because of course this is about more than Harry Potter. Bedtime reading is always about more than the books.

Daisy wipes her eyes. “What’s going to happen now?” she asks. “What happens to Mom? Do we have a funeral? What about the baby? How are we going to take care of her? And what about money? How do we get money without Mom going to work? And how can you look after the little twins _and_ take me to gymnastics _and_ take Noah and Mac to baseball all by yourself?”

“That’s a lot of questions. And the truth is little bug, I don’t really know all the answers,” I say honestly. “This was never supposed to happen…I don’t know exactly how we go from here. But you mustn’t worry about things like money and who’s going to look after you, because I promise you that it will be okay. I’m not going to let you down. Grandma and Grandpa will help us work things out.”

“Where’s Mom now? What happens when…when someone dies?” Daisy’s eyes fill with tears. “Do they bury you or burn you up right away? Or do we have to see her?”

I hug my little daughter close, realising that this is her first brush with death. Both sets of her grandparents are still alive, and she’s been lucky enough never to suffer the loss of a friend or acquaintance or even a pet. I hate that her first introduction to grief has to be so severe.

“Mom’s body is still at the hospital right now,” I tell her gently. “I’m not sure if the doctors are going to need to do some tests or some kind of exam to understand exactly why she…why this happened. Once that’s done she’ll go to the funeral home, and we’ll meet with the funeral director person to decide what we want to do for a funeral and what we want to do with her body. Usually funerals are in a few days, maybe a week…it depends.”

Daisy fiddles with the tasselled end of her bookmark. “Do we see her?”

“If you want to you can, but you don’t have to. You can think about it.”

“Does she…what does she look like? Is it…is it really scary?” Daisy looks terrified, and I shake my head and kiss her forehead.

“No, it’s not scary. She looks kind of like she’s asleep, that’s all. But if you don’t want to see that, if you’d rather just remember her like she always was, that’s okay too.” I think of Rosalie’s white, still face and close my eyes.

“What about the baby? When will she come home? How will we look after her?” Daisy reaches for my phone in my pocket. “Can I see her video again?”

Anxiety tightens my stomach to the point of pain when I think about Holly. Newborns need so much…how are we going to do that without Rosalie? Am I ever going to be able to look at the baby without the sucker punch thought to my gut that if she’d never been born, Rosalie would still be alive? The miracle of her conception, after nine years of infertility, seems like the world’s cruellest joke now.

At the same time…she’s my baby. _Rosalie’s_ baby, and I know that in all of her life there was nothing my wife was prouder of or that made her happier than our babies. Even this one, the unexpected bonus baby we never planned on…I know how much Rosalie loved her and I know exactly what she will expect of me now.

So I get out my phone, and Daisy and I watch Holly’s video and I try to recapture the feelings I had for the baby before I knew what she would cost me.

“She’s so cute,” Daisy says. “I can’t wait to hold her.”

“We’ll be able to bring her home soon,” I say. “Maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Daisy plays the video again. “You know, if I had my _own_ phone you could send me this video and I could play it whenever I want, and show my friends…”

“You’re not getting your own phone,” I say dryly, and it’s such an everyday conversation for Daisy and I that I start laughing. “You’re EIGHT! You don’t need a phone!”

“I was just _suggesting_ …” Daisy says in an injured tone of voice, before she starts laughing too. And laughter turns to tears and I have to lie beside her and stroke her hair until she falls asleep because she doesn’t want to be alone, but at least we have that moment.

Mac and Noah are asleep by the time I leave Daisy’s room. Downstairs I check in on the little twins and find them sleeping together like they always do, Zeke with the ear of the stuffed cat in his mouth and Bram’s pudgy little fingers curled around the tail.

I leave the sleeping children and go outside, sitting on the back porch steps in the clear, starlit dark. Clementine comes trotting over immediately, whiffling at my pockets as I wrap my arms around her and press my face against her furry grey neck. She nibbles at my hair, and for a moment I just take in the donkey-smelling warmth of her and try to breathe.

I fumble for my phone, scrolling through it until I find the video I took today of Rosalie and the baby in the water right after birth. My heart seizes as I watch it, seeing again Rosalie’s bliss and wonderment as she cradles the baby. She kisses her and says her name and looks up at me through the camera and laughs, and I replay it again and again until I can’t even see for the tears blurring my eyes.

“Emmett.” There are footsteps on the porch behind me, and a moment later Esme sits beside me on the step. She puts an arm around me and a moment later I lean my head against her shoulder and stare at the phone, watching again the video that captures my daughter’s life beginning and my wife’s ending.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I say, my voice almost inaudible. “I don’t know how to…how to _be_ …without her. I’ve loved her for more than half of my life…I don’t want to live without her…”

“I know it feels that way,” Esme whispers, holding my head tightly against her and stroking my hair, just like I did to my own son hours ago. “And I can only imagine how much this hurts…but you have to keep going Em. You’ve got six little people who need you desperately, and you have to be there for them.”

“But _how_?” I choke. “How can I be there for them when I want to die without her? How do I keep going? I’ve built my life around her, around what we have together…how do I live without that?”

“Moment by moment,” Esme says. “That’s all you can do…just keep putting one foot in front of the other, surviving moment by moment. Love your little ones, and lean on me and Carlisle and everyone else when you need to. We’re here for you.”

I don’t know if even that is possible. The loss of Rosalie is so enormous and the grief so all-encompassing that just the idea of existing with it feels unimaginable. But I stare at my phone and Rosalie’s beautiful face and think dully that it’s another moment gone, and that’s all I have to do…just keep breathing. 

Edward’s hand is on my shoulder, heavy and warm. “Is that from today?” he asks.

“Yeah. Right after the baby was born.” I replay it, my eyes blurring with tears. “I don’t….fucking hell, we thought it was all fine…I mean, the baby was born and she was breathing and it was all…I thought it was okay.”

Edward sits on the step beside me and watches the video closely. “You might have to give that to the review board,” he says a little awkwardly. “They’ll be investigating if Rosalie’s treatment was appropriate, and that video shows the colour of the water, which might show the rate of bleeding at that point.”

For the first time I look past Rosalie and see the water she’s sitting in, darkening in colour as she kisses the baby and her lifeblood starts draining away.

“Do you think they did something wrong?” I ask hoarsely. “The midwives? Or the OB?”

Edward hesitates. “It’s hard to say; the review board will find out if they did. But from what you said, what I saw in surgery, what I heard them saying…I don’t think so. Placenta accreta is often missed on prenatal ultrasound and Rosalie hadn’t had any c-sections, which would be the biggest risk factor. It sounds like the midwife followed standard protocol for post-partum bleeding and a retained placenta, and certainly once she was in surgery they were doing everything they could.”

“Were you there? Did you see her…at the end?”

“Yes.” Edward looks down at his hands. “I was just finishing up an appendectomy in the next surgical suite when they brought her in. I knew you and Rosalie were in the maternity unit so when I heard it was an OB emergency I had to go and check. I probably shouldn’t have been there – and I wasn’t involved in any of the surgery - but I watched and…they did what I would have done. It just wasn’t enough.”

“Did she suffer? Do you think…was she scared?” Tears are running down my face. “I hate to think that…I mean, she was so happy about the baby and…Jesus, tell me it wasn’t that bad for her.”

“She wouldn’t have known anything at all,” Edward says softly. “I promise you, Emmett, the last thing Rosalie would have really known was that moment right there on the video, with you and Holly, and she was happy.”

It’s a small thing. A tiny paper boat floating on an endless ocean of grief, but at least it’s there…Rosalie hadn’t known what was happening. She wouldn’t have been afraid.

For the moment, it’s all I have…and it has to be enough.

Bella comes out on to the porch, carrying one of the babies. “Bram woke up, and I think someone got into the Halloween candy,” she tells me. “Either that or he’s been eating crayons…I just changed a diaper that was bright blue.”

“Da-da-da-da!” Bram stretches his pudgy little hands towards me and I reach out and take him from Bella’s arms, snuggling the warm, solid weight of him against me.

“Someone gave out those blue sour candy straps last night,” I say. “Mac kept feeding it to the babies in the stroller- he thought it was hilarious watching them make faces when the sour hit. He’s probably been doing it all day.”

“Sorry, we tried to keep the candy out of the babies’ mouths,” Esme says with a sigh.

I shrug. “He’s okay…he and Zeke have eaten worse.” I remember how careful Rosalie and I were with what Daisy ate when she was a baby, and a smile wryly at how things change.

“Edward and I thought we might go home now,” Bella says, kneeling behind me and hugging me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “But only if that’s okay with you. We’ll come back tomorrow and help out.”

I lay my hand over hers. “Thanks. You guys go on home…I’ll be okay.”

Once they’re gone, Esme and I continue to sit quietly on the steps for a while. Bram babbles and reaches for the donkey, intrigued by the novelty of sitting up outside at night, but eventually he quietens and drifts off to sleep, warm and relaxed in my arms.

I watch headlights bumping up the drive and a few moments later Carlisle joins us on the back porch. Esme jumps up and the two of them hug, fiercely and briefly, and then sit together on the sofa. I turn sideways on the step so I can look at them.

“Did you tell Jack and Lily?”

Carlisle’s eyes are shadowed. “Yes. They were devastated of course; Jack said they’ll come round and see you and the children tomorrow. He asked about being involved in the funeral, and I said we would talk about it then.”

I touch my lips to Bram’s forehead, smelling the milk on his breath and the baby shampoo from his hair. “Okay.” I don’t want to think about a funeral yet.

“I stopped by the hospital to check on Holly as well,” Carlisle goes on. “She’s a beautiful baby, Emmett, and she’s doing fine. There’s no reason you can’t bring her home tomorrow.”

“Bring her home,” I echo stupidly.

There’s a long silence, the fact that I’ll be bringing a motherless baby home hanging heavy in the air between us.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Carlisle says softly. “It wasn’t Holly’s fault. She’s just a baby who has lost her mom, and she needs you.”

“I get that, I do and of course…she’s mine. I’ll do what I have to do to take care of her,” I mutter. “But how the _fuck_ am I meant to actually DO THAT? I already HAVE two babies, not to mention three older kids. And school and gymnastics and baseball and laundry and cooking and cleaning and work and…it was hard enough to manage when it was Rosalie and I, and we were TWO people not one…” I can hardly breathe. “And I don’t…oh fuck…I am so sad that I can’t even…how the hell am I supposed to be _enough?”_

“You don’t have to be enough by yourself,” Carlisle says. “Esme and I aren’t going anywhere. I went home and picked up pyjamas and toothbrushes and we’ll stay here as long as you need us.” He kneels beside me and his arms are there, giving me strength that I don’t have and the love that I so badly need in this dark place. “We’re right here with you.”


	6. Pinpricks of Light

I sit out on the porch until I hear Zeke crying from inside. I’m surprised he’s slept this long without Bram beside him; as long as they’re together the little twins usually sleep through the night, but move one of them out and the other one always seems to feel the absence and wake up too. It’s why we gave up on having them in separate cribs and simply baby proofed the entire bedroom and let them sleep on the mattress on the floor.

“I’ll take him,” Esme says, scooping Bram up gently from my arms. He doesn’t even stir. “You could go into your office and see if you can open up the sofa bed.”

“Sure.” I trail after Carlisle into my office, looking around a little helplessly. Between my drafting table and the desk with the computer and printer, the jam-packed bookshelves, the bassinet, baby bath, bucket car seat and baby playpen and swing we’ve stored in here awaiting Holly, and the cabinets stuffed with all the things we need to keep out of little kids’ hands, the room is not exactly neat. “Sorry…I wasn’t really expecting guests.” 

“It’s fine.” Carlisle drops his overnight bag by the door. “If we can just move your table out of the way…perhaps the baby things…”

I shove the drafting table into the corner and pile up the baby equipment underneath it, which gives me enough room to pull out the sofa bed. I reach into the closet and find the bedding, sheets and a comforter and a couple of pillows. Carlisle and I make up the bed, listening to the faint sound of Esme singing lullabies to the boys across the hall.

“Thank you for staying,” I mumble, starting to shuffle things off the desk.

“Emmett, we’ll do anything we can for you and the kids,” Carlisle says sincerely. “I wish I could do more. I wish…” He shakes his head and doesn’t finish.

“I’ll leave you guys to go to bed,” I say when Esme appears.

“Will you be okay?” she asks worriedly. “I think it would do you good to get some sleep, but if you…I’ll sit up with you if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head and say good night, heading off through the quiet house to my bedroom. I can’t remember the last time I felt this exhausted, but as soon as I flip on the light and look at my room I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep in there. Everywhere I look, all I can see is Rosalie. Her Kindle and a pile of paper books on her bedside table, her jewellery and a bunch of photographs on the dresser, her sweater tossed over the chair, the closet bursting at the seams with her clothes, the en suite bathroom full of her toiletries and make up and a hamper of dirty clothes. I clean my teeth with shaking hands and strip down to my underwear and a t-shirt, but when I lay down on the bed I can’t stand it. It smells like sex, and all I can see is what happened here last night, making love to my pregnant wife, Rosalie laughing and hot with my hands and mouth all over her, inside her, and so god damned fucking _alive_ …

_Rosa-girl…why the fuck did you leave me like this?_

I grab my pillow and go to the living room, switching on the tv and laying down on the sofa. I flip channels until I find a sports channel, and I stare at the tv with burning eyes and try not to think.

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but I’m woken abruptly by a series of terrified, blood curdling screams that have me off the sofa and moving towards the source before I’ve even properly opened my eyes.

“Noah!”

He’s in my room, standing at the end of the empty bed and screaming, and as soon as I appear at the door he turns and flings himself at me.

“Oh Noah, buddy, shhh…it’s all right, I’m here, Daddy’s here…” I wrap my arms around him, feeling his heart pound and his whole body shake with his terror. “Daddy’s here, it’s okay…”

“You…were…gone!” Noah gasps. “There…was…no one…here. I thought…you were…dead…like…Mommy…”

“Oh no, oh buddy no…I’m sorry.” I tighten my hold on him, sitting down on the bed and pulling him onto my lap, rocking him like he’s a baby. Carlisle and Esme appear in the doorway, but I wave them away. “Shhh, I’m here. It’s all right. It’s all right,” I repeat towards Carlisle and Esme. “I’ve got him. We’ll be fine. Right, Noah? We’re fine…we’re fine…”

Carlisle and Esme retreat, and I keep rocking Noah and murmuring reassurances until his terrified sobbing slows to long, shuddering, hiccupping breaths. I reach out and switch on the bedside lamp. “Do you want to sleep here with me?”

Noah nods.

“Okay then.” I crawl up the bed and get under the covers, Noah burrowing in beside me. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close, and he wipes his face against the sleeve of my t-shirt and then touches his fingers to the bear tattooed on my bicep.

“I woke up and I wanted you and you weren’t here,” he whispers. “I was scared that you were dead too…is it really real that Mommy is dead?”

“Yeah…it’s really real.”

Noah nestles his head down against my shoulder, and I feel the hot dampness of his tears soaking into my t-shirt. “I want Mommy.”

“I want Mommy too.” I kiss his head and close my eyes, rubbing his back until I feel his breathing slow and his body relax as he drifts towards sleep. _Oh Noah…I want your mommy too._

Without waking him I reach down the side of the bed and grope for the plastic bag I brought home from the hospital until I close my fingers around Rosalie’s skeleton t-shirt. I lift it to my face and close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her, trying to pretend that it’s real and she’s here with me.

___________________________________________

There’s a moment the next morning, right after I wake, when I don’t remember. There’s a moment when, still half asleep, I reach across the bed for Rosalie and expect to find her. Remembering, when my hands touch nothing but emptiness and the events of the previous day flood back in, is brutal.

_Rosalie died. It’s real. She’s gone._

I can’t breathe. I bury my face in the pillow, mouth opened in a silent scream, as I realise again that my Rosalie is dead, this isn’t a dream, and this agony is not going to go away.

_Rosalie please…I can’t do this. I can’t stand it._

But just like yesterday, there isn’t any choice and I have to stand it.

Looking at the time I’m surprised I’ve been able to sleep this late without Bram and Zeke yelling for me, but then I realise the baby monitor is gone from the dresser and I pull on a pair of sweatpants and hurry out to check on everyone.

I find Mac and Noah and Daisy in the living room, all still wearing pyjamas and watching tv. “Grandpa said it was okay,” Mac informs me quickly, before I can say anything. “He said we didn’t have to go to school and we could watch tv.”

“Oh sure,” I mutter, rubbing his head as I pass through to the kitchen. “That’s okay.”

Bram and Zeke are in their high chairs with porridge in their hair, happily gnawing on pieces of toast. Esme is packing the dishwasher, but she stops long enough to come and hug me.

“How are you? Did you sleep okay? I took the baby monitor out last night so that the little twins wouldn’t wake you this morning; I though the sleep would do you good.” She examines me worriedly.

“I’m okay.” I shrug, reaching into the fridge for the milk. “Did the big kids have breakfast?”

“Yes, Carlisle helped them get cereal and toast. Do you want me to make you something?”

I empty the milk carton and toss it at the recycling bin. “Nah.”

“You need to eat. Sit down.” Esme pushes me towards the table.

Too tired to argue, I sit.

“Da-da-da!” Bram gives me a sunny smile and holds out his mangled toast crust. I obligingly pretend to eat it, and he slams his hand down onto the tray and cackles gleefully. Zeke copies his brother, and soon they’re both laughing. I wish I had half of their joy in the day.

Esme sits across from me at the table, placing a plate of peanut butter toast in front of me. “Please try and eat,” she says, and even though my stomach is so knotted up with misery and tension I don’t know how I’ll even fit in a bite, I try for her.

“I called the elementary school first thing this morning and spoke to the principal,” Esme tells me. “He asked me to pass along his condolences, he was very upset by this. He’s going to discuss the situation with the staff, and they’ll talk to Daisy’s and the twins’ classmates so that all the children understand what has happened. He said that there will be a general announcement on the school app that a parent has died and a more specific letter will go home with the kindergarteners and third graders so that families who know you can talk about it with their children. It’s a matter of balancing your need for privacy with making sure Daisy and Mac and Noah are supported, and also that all their friends are able to deal appropriately with what’s happened.”

I put down the toast. “Okay. I guess…fuck. I’m sorry, I just don’t…”

“I know.” Esme covers my hand with hers and squeezes. “Moment by moment Emmett, that’s all you can do.”

“So the kids won’t go to school today. I should call Jonah, say I won’t be in to work…” I bite my knuckles.

“He was one of the people Edward spoke to yesterday. Jonah said you mustn’t worry about work, he was going to call your clients and cancel what you have lined up. He said you didn’t have a lot booked for the next month?”

“Yeah, I kept most of November free so I could be at home after the baby came.”

This is supposed to be a _happy_ time…I am dizzy with how quickly things have changed.

Zeke tosses his soggy crusts to the floor and starts squirming to get down. I grab a face washer and start trying to clean the porridge from his hair, but Carlisle comes into the kitchen and takes it from my hand.

“I’ve just run a bath for them,” he tells me. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast and then go and shower too?”

I can’t bring myself to eat anymore so I head into my room, showering and dressing mechanically. I feel like I’m sleepwalking, every movement requiring twice the usual effort, the very air around me feeling like it’s weighing me down.

_Rosalie…I miss you._

Mac is siting on the bed when I come out, holding a packet of markers that he holds out to me. “Can you do a snake going all the way around my arm? With fangs?”

“Sounds good.” I drop onto the bed beside him. “What colour?”

“Green.” Mac hands me the markers. “With red fangs.”

Mac’s right arm is already decorated with fading splotches of colour from whatever I drew on him last, looking like a string of healing bruises. We once had a visit from Child Protective Services after a new swimming teacher saw the shadowy remains of a mostly washed off back piece I’d done on Mac and thought I’d been beating him, but that hasn’t really deterred us. I take the green marker and get to work, sketching a quick outline of a snake that wraps around his arm and down onto the back of his hand, adding the requisite red fangs to the gaping mouth.

“Like that?”

“Yeah.” Mac settles back against me, his small arm lying against my much bigger one, and watches as I start filling in the scales on his serpent. “That’s cool.”

Drawing always makes me feel better, and drawing on the living, breathing body of my Mac feels like solace. Especially when I hit the ticklish places and hear his gruff little chuckle. I’m smiling when there’s a quick rap on the door and I look up to see my boss, Jonah, standing in the doorway.

“I’m on my way to the shop,” he tells me, his usually slight Irish accent sounding stronger in his distress. “But I had to stop by and see you…look, I’m that sorry.”

Mac stiffens in my arm, and I kiss his curls and keep drawing with steady hands. “Thanks…”

“Don’t worry about work,” Jonah adds. “I’ll sort out what you have booked already, and I’ll put new enquiries onto a waitlist so you can deal with them whenever you’re ready to come back. No pressure though – take your time. You’ve got to look after your best customers here.” He grins at Mac.

Mac grins back. “Do you like my snake?”

“Your dad’s doing a pretty good job,” Jonah says critically. “Of course, if you’d like something even _better_ on your other arm…?”

“Yeah!” Mac nearly dislocates his shoulder in his haste to allow access to his other arm. All my kids love my boss, and getting a ‘Jonah-tattoo’ is something special. “Wow,” he says a few moments later, watching me complete my snake and Jonah’s Spiderman quickly take shape. “It’s almost too bad I’m not going to school and could show them off. Almost.”

I have to laugh. Mac is a McCarty in more than name, and even after only a couple of months of kindergarten it’s already becoming pretty clear that he’s more likely to take after me than Rosalie when it comes to academics.

“You stay home and take care of your dad,” Jonah says, capping his marker and rumpling Mac’s hair. “He needs you now.” 

Mac nods seriously.

“Why don’t you go show Grandma your new ink?” I suggest, and Mac scrambles off the bed and heads out. “Thanks for coming by,” I say to Jonah, gathering up the markers and slotting them back into the case.

“Emmett, I truly am so sorry,” Jonah says, laying a heavy hand on my arm. “Your Rosalie was a beautiful soul and this is just about beyond belief…I know I can’t say anything to make you feel better, but my heart’s with you.” He pauses. “And the wee baby?”

“Holly.” I clear my throat. “We named her Holly. And she’s fine; a big, healthy baby girl. She was born okay, it all…went wrong afterwards. Rosalie started bleeding and just…didn’t stop.”

The images flash in my mind, vivid and distorted and horrifying. Billowing ribbons of blood in the bathwater, a crimson trail behind Rosalie as she staggers across the room, an abandoned hospital bed soaked red and black with clotted blood…an agonised noise forces its way out past my lips.

Jonah’s hand tightens on my arm. “Ah Emmett.” He brushes a hand over his eyes, wiping away tears. “If there’s anything…hello, we’ve got another customer!”

Noah is standing in the doorway, twisting a finger in his hair and watching me uncertainly. “Daddy?”

I sit up straighter, forcing myself to breathe evenly, and do my best to smile at him. “Hey buddy. Did you want Jonah to draw something on you too?”

“I’ve had some great ideas for aliens lately,” Jonah tells him. “How about a cool space monster?”

Noah bounces up onto the bed. “Yeah!” But before he goes to Jonah he crawls over to me and wraps his arms around my neck. “Okay, Daddy?”

I nod and hug him back. “Yeah bud, it’s all good.”

It’s not ‘all good’, but as I sit there and watch Jonah tenderly drawing an elaborate alien on Noah’s arm I realise that it’s not all bad either. Grief is drowning me but these people who are here beside me, with their love and care for me and mine, are tiny pinpricks of light in the darkness…and that is something to cling to.


	7. Making Arrangements

As the morning drags on, the house feels crowded. Carlisle and Esme stay. Edward and Bella show up with Eliza and bags full of groceries. I try to say thank you, but the words die on my lips when I see the cans of newborn formula they’ve bought and realise afresh that my children, even my poor brand new daughter, are now motherless.

Rosalie’s parents arrive later, for a different flavour of hell. Lily looks devastated, and Jack is barely recognisable in his grief. Especially when he reaches out and hugs me, fighting to control his sobs…when has he ever touched me before?

“God Emmett… I can’t believe….my girl…”

I pat his shoulder helplessly. Jack and I have had our differences and there are many things I could judge him for, but the one thing I know for truth is that in his own way, he has always loved Rosalie deeply. His pain here at her passing is almost palpable.

“My girl…Carlisle told me how it happened, but…were you with her?” Jack pulls back and looks at me, his swollen eyes wild. “What were the goddamned doctors doing? It wasn’t because of this hippie water birth nonsense was it? I just can’t believe a woman can _bleed to death_ having a baby in this day and age…”

“Jack. Enough.” Carlisle says unequivocally. “Not in front of the children.”

“I…of course.” Jack looks down at the wide, horrified eyes of Daisy, Mac and Noah and his face crumples. “Oh damn, I didn’t mean…”

But he pulls himself together quickly, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes on a handkerchief that already looks pretty sodden, and crouches down to the greet the kids, who are quick to go and hug him.

He’s always been a better grandfather than he was father. He and Lily are an irregular but enjoyable feature of my children’s lives, not there for the day to day like Carlisle and Esme, but showing up with ski trips and beach resort vacations and tickets to major sports events and extravagant Christmas presents. As a style of parenting it was emotionally neglectful, but as a way to grandparent it’s fun and it’s given my kids some amazing experiences. 

Lily hugs me too, cupping my face in her cool hands and looking at me searchingly. “Are you holding up?”

I shrug, and she kisses my cheek.

“Emmett, I’m sorry,” Jack mutters. “I didn’t mean to upset the kids, and I know it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Carlisle explained how it happened and…it just still seems so unbelievable though! I mean, she was having a baby, that’s all…this shouldn’t have happened, and I want someone to blame.”

“There isn’t anyone to blame,” I say flatly. “And it wouldn’t help even if there was. What difference does it make? She’s gone.”

I turn away, scooping up Zeke and taking him and Bram off to their room for a nap. They’re over tired and over excited with so many people in the house and there’s a lot of screaming and crawling around the room and climbing over me as I lie on their bed before they start settling down. Eventually the dim lighting and the tranquil music get to them and they both curl up next to me with their stuffed cat, heavy eyes closing. I stay with them, listening to them breathe and trying to summon the strength to go on with the day.

“Emmett?” Esme whispers, opening the door a crack and peeping in. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but the funeral director is here.”

For a moment I close my eyes. But there’s no escape and so, with infinite care not to wake sleeping babies, I get to my feet and follow Esme to the kitchen where Carlisle, Jack and Lily are already seated with a suited man I assume is the funeral director. Seeing me he rises to his feet and reaches for my hand.

“Emmett? I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m Brian Henderson and I’m here to help make this difficult process run as smoothly as possible.”

I shake his hand, glancing out the back door at a flash of colour down by the river. It’s Edward and Bella and the children, probably floating stick boats and throwing rocks into the water, and I wish dully I were down there with them. Anything but sitting here, dealing with the ugly realities of saying goodbye to my dead wife.

And it is ugly. Brian dresses it up, flowery language about the services they offer, the chapels and the options for burial or cremation, flowers and songs, audio visual equipment for slideshows and movies, printed programs and prayer cards, hearses and headstones…but none of it softens the brutal truth that my beautiful wife is gone and all that is left her, the lifeless physical remains, are going to be burned away to ash.

Brian wants my opinion. All the options are there for us to scroll through on his iPad. I’m the husband, and I’m supposed to decide…and I can’t. None of it feels like it matters. Rosalie, the centre of my world, the love that was as much a part of me as my beating heart, is gone…and they think I give a shit about silver or brass casket handles? I shrug and mumble and bite my fist until my knuckles ache, and eventually they get the hint and take my non-answers as assent to what everyone else thinks is best.

They choose Thursday for the funeral. The large chapel, to accommodate the expected number of attendees. The maple wood casket with gold handles and white satin lining. Carlisle to deliver the eulogy. Lily to prepare a video tribute and provide photos to go in the printed funeral program. Esme to select some music, and Edward to play the piano. Alice to do a reading. The grey leather embossed funeral guest book. Space for guests to share their memories of Rosalie. Refreshments provided afterwards – the deluxe package.

The children can speak if they wish to, and me if I ever find my voice.

Roses. There will be roses. 

Jack, Carlisle, Edward, Jasper, Jonah and I will carry her out, a burden whose weight seems unimaginable. She will be cremated, her ashes returned to us held in a tasteful brass cremation urn with filigreed copper overlay, as described by the extensive catalogue on Brian’s iPad. Her final resting place to be decided later.

Jack lays down his credit card and pays for everything - nothing but the best for his princess, even in death. “You don’t have to worry about money,” he tells me gruffly. “Not for this…not for anything. I’ll transfer a lump sum into your account when I get home that will keep you going for now, until we sort out Rosalie’s life insurance and trust and retirement accounts. You just worry about taking care of those babies and I’ll take care of you all financially.”

It’s kind of a change from him calling me a gold digger and making me sign a pre-nup before I married Rosalie I guess. But Jack has always used his money as a proxy for love, and I recognise the gesture for what it is and accept it as such.

Besides, we’ll probably need it. I am very good at what I do and charge good money to do it, but my extremely part time hours make my income chump change compared to what Rosalie brings in. It feels wrong to be even thinking about Rosalie’s death in financial terms, but she made most of our money and her job is the one that comes with health insurance. I’ve got six kids who have to eat and I can’t pay my bills with grief.

But I can’t think long term. If I start thinking about all the things I’m going to have to do, about what the rest of my life is going to be like without her, I think it’ll break me. So I nod at Jack and find Lily the external hard drive that Rosalie backs up all our digital photos and videos on to, and then head outside to get away from it all.

I wander down to the river, smiling a little as I watch the kids play. Despite the cold they all have their shoes off and are wet to the knees as they rearrange rocks to divert tiny rivulets through their constructed canals and waterfalls.

“Is everything arranged?” Edward asks as I sit down beside him on the log.

“Yeah.” I don’t elaborate, scratching Clementine in her favourite spot behind her ears. “Thanks for keeping the kids out of it.”

Daisy does three walkovers to end up in front of me. “Hi Daddy.” She pushes the donkey away so that she can wriggle onto my lap.

I smile at her. “Hey little bug. Listen, do you want to go to gymnastics this afternoon? Grandpa and I are going to go to the hospital to pick up the baby, and so I can take you to your class if you want to go.”

“I don’t know,” Daisy hesitates. “Do you think I should?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. But you’ll probably have fun, and it might take your mind off things.”

“But is that…okay? I mean, with Mom…” Daisy bites her lip.

“Hey.” I tip her face up to make her look at me. “It’s absolutely okay for you to do your regular things and have fun. We’re all sad about Mom, but that doesn’t mean we have to…we don’t have to just sit around feeling sad every second of the day. Mommy wouldn’t want that. If you want to go and walk on your hands and throw yourself around in the air, you should do that!”

Daisy giggles and looks relieved. “I’ll go then.”

“Good girl.” I squeeze her tightly for a moment, my heart aching, and release her. “Go put your leotard on.”

She scampers back towards the house. I sigh and lean forward, resting my face against Clementine’s warm, furry back. “It’s been twenty four hours,” I say, and for a moment I don’t think I can breathe for the agony. “Jesus Edward, a day…”

Edward’s hand is heavy and comforting on my back. “It’s okay Emmett. You’ve made it through a day and you’re still standing…you’re doing fine.”

“I still can’t believe it’s real.” I sit up and try and take some deep breaths. “I keep thinking…how is this my life? How did this happen? How the fuck is…” I bite off the end of my words as Eliza comes over, crying about her cold feet.

I carry her back to the house while Edward and Bella shepherd the boys out of the river, and then leave them out on the porch with a bucket of warm water cleaning muddy feet while I go inside. I need to pee and find the baby bucket car seat and get ready to take Daisy to gymnastics and go and pick up the new baby.

But in my room, with the open hospital bag in front of me and a selection of baby clothes held in my shaking hands, I feel it all closing in. Rosalie packed this bag and she packed these clothes and _I can’t remember which one was supposed to be the coming home outfit…the pink or the white or the sweater with the flower buttons and which hat and sweet fucking hell I CAN’T and I have to get it RIGHT because Rosalie would CARE and I don’t want to let you down Rosa-girl, I want to do it just like you would want…_

“Oh Emmett, shhh, oh sweetie, it’s okay, shhhh…”

It’s Esme, and I turn blindly towards her. She wraps her arms around me and I push my face into her shoulder, desperately trying to muffle my sobs. I do not want the kids to come in and see me this way, but the pain is tearing me up and I can’t stop.

“Shh sweetie, it’s all right, it’s all right…”

“I can’t remember which one was supposed to the be the fucking coming home outfit!” I sob. “I can’t remember…and…and…and I don’t want to go and get the baby…because I bring that baby home without Rosalie and that’s going to make it REAL and I don’t fucking want this to be real…I don’t Esme, I don’t…I can’t do this without her!”

Esme rocks me like a baby, all soothing hands and gentle words and promises that she’s right here to hold me together. That the clothes don’t matter, and Rosalie would never judge me for doing the best I can, even if it’s not what she would have done. That Holly will be just fine in whatever outfit I pick out. That I’m going to be a great dad to her, just like I am to the others.

“But I don’t want her,” I whisper miserably, the shame curling hot and fierce in my belly. “Not now, not like this. We never planned her, we never even meant…and yet she’s here and Rosalie’s not …and I hate myself for even thinking it Esme, I do, but if she wasn’t here then Rosalie would be…and I don’t know if I’ll be able to forget that and just love her…I’m sorry…” And the tears flow again, this time for a baby that I don’t want and that I know deserves so much more.

I can’t even look at Esme, so scared that she’ll hate me for this. Esme has always had such an open heart and has spent her adult life loving other people’s kids just because it’s the right thing to do – adopting Edward when she married Carlisle, taking in Alice and I even with all the baggage and issues that came along with our shitty situation, taking on all the foster kids over the years. All the hurt, damaged, difficult children that she has loved, her only biological baby dead at only days old, and here I am rejecting my own. My own baby girl, who lost her mother and needs me…and I don’t want her.

“I love you so much,” Esme says tenderly. “And it’s understandable that your feelings about Holly are a little ambivalent right now. This is a terrible situation that no one could possibly have been prepared for, and it’s not surprising that right now the pain outweighs any of the good feelings. But I know you Emmett, I know your heart and I know what being a father means to you. You just need to give it time, for yourself and for Holly.”

“I know it’s not her fault,” I say with effort. “She’s just a baby and she lost as much as everyone else. I don’t blame her, but all the what ifs…”

Esme shakes her head. “You can’t go down that path Emmett, it will only hurt you more in the long run. Don’t think about the what ifs now.”

“Daddy? I’m ready to go.” Daisy appears in the door, looking frightened as she takes in the sight of me hunched on the floor, my face wet with tears. “Are you…are you okay?”

“Oh your dad’s a mess, little bug,” I say, forcing a tone of lightness. I sit up and grab a handful of tissues, wiping my face and blowing my nose. “But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine…I was just trying to figure out which of these clothes I’m supposed to go and dress your sister up in to bring her home. I know your mom had it planned, but I’ll be damned if I can remember.”

“Oh, I know that,” Daisy looks relieved. “I can tell you! It was the white outfit with the little pink flowers and the matching hat, with the sweater Grandma knitted with the flower buttons.” She jumps over the bed and crouches beside the overnight bag, gathering up a handful of tiny clothes and holding them out to me with an anxious smile. “These ones. Don’t you remember? I helped Mom pick them out at the store.”

Of course now that I’m looking at them I _do_ remember, and I give Daisy a genuinely happy smile and a kiss on her forehead as I take the outfit from her. “Little bug, you’re brilliant. Saving my bacon for eight years now…”

Daisy giggles. “It’s not that big a deal!”

“You’re right, it’s really not.” I shake my head. “It’s just clothes, at the end of the day. Okay, I’m going to put these in the diaper bag and go and sort the car seat out – you make sure you’ve got your water bottle and tell Grandpa we’re ready to go. It’s time for your baby sister to come home.”


	8. Baby Holly

Daisy grips my hand as we walk into the gym, her backpack bumping against my hip as she presses close. It’s not like her to be so clingy here, and when she sits down to take off her shoes I kneel in front of her and gently unzip her jacket.

“Ready for some handsprings?”

“Does Diana know about Mom?” Daisy mumbles, watching her coach checking the set up of the uneven bars across the floor.

I start untangling the knots in her shoelaces. “Yeah, she does. Grandma called her – we thought it would be easier for you that way.” I pull off her sneakers.

“Okay. Good.” Daisy toes off her socks, drops her sweatpants and then runs across the sprung floor towards her coach, who sees her coming and opens her arms.

I slowly pick up Daisy’s clothes and stuff them in her bag. My eyes burn as I watch Diana hugging Daisy, pulling away to talk earnestly for a moment, before she pulls her close again. She’s been her coach for a year and a half and Daisy idolises her. After several moments Diana gets to her feet and walks towards me, a tear stained Daisy holding tight to her hand.

“Emmett, I’m so sorry,” Diana says.

I fold Daisy’s socks together so I don’t have to look at her. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you say goodbye to dad and go and warm up?” she suggests to Daisy.

I go down on one knee. “You’re okay if I go?”

Daisy nods and hugs me fiercely. “You’re just going to the hospital to get the baby? And then you’ll come back?”

I promise, and then Diana sends Daisy off to do her laps and start on her stretching. We both watch her run, and Diana lays a hand on my arm. “Everyone here at the gym is so shocked. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know…everyone loves Daisy. Do you know when the funeral is?”

“Thursday morning. Henderson’s Funeral Services, over on Whitman Avenue,” I mutter.

“I’ll definitely come.” Diana wipes her eyes. “I’ve told Daisy that she should take it all at her own pace for a while. I want her in class as often as she wants to be here, although I’ll understand if she doesn’t feel up to giving things a hundred per cent. And of course you guys will have a lot going on, so she really shouldn’t worry about missing classes for a while either. She should come when she can, and I hope that the gym can be a safe place for her to feel good in.”

“You know Daisy loves it here,” I say, “We thought it was probably better to try and stick to their regular routine as much as possible and she wanted to come today.” I half smile as I watch Daisy finish her run with a couple of handsprings down the mat.

“I’ll try and give her a good day,” Diana says, shaking her head. “Poor kiddo…I shouldn’t say it, but Daisy’s always been one of my favourites and losing her mom like this is just horrific. I really don’t know what else to say to you but that I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’ve got to go,” I mumble. I don’t know how to respond to this sympathy. I know she means well, but I don’t know what to do with someone’s fumbled words as they try to express their sorrow over the unimaginable.

I pause at the door and look back. Daisy is sitting in Diana’s lap on the mat, a couple of other little girls clustered close. Even from here I can see that Daisy is crying, but Diana is holding her close and her friends are reaching out to pat her ponytail and give her hugs, and I know she’s in good hands. Even so I can’t bring myself to leave until she looks up and sees me, and waves across the gym to let me know that she’s okay. I wave back, and with heavy feet walk back out to where Carlisle is waiting in the minivan.

The drive to the hospital is silent. My stomach is so twisted up with nerves I can hardly breathe, and I can’t keep my fist away from my mouth. As we enter the parking garage and the memories of the last time I did this rear up in my mind ( _sweet fucking hell it was only yesterday!)_ I bite down hard enough that my abused skin splits and I taste blood. I bend forward when we park, pressing my head against the dashboard and trying not to scream.

“Breathe, Emmett,” Carlisle says softly. “Take your time. It’s okay.”

“Last time I drove into this garage…I had a wife,” I say hollowly. “I had Rosalie…I parked in the H row because I thought it would be lucky…and she had two contractions walking across to the elevator…she was kind of crying and I told her that she was a superstar and she was going to be fine…I didn’t know that was a lie.” I force myself to take in several gulping, painful breaths. “Sweet fucking hell Carlisle…how did this happen?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Of course there isn’t one beyond the fact that, sometimes, bad things happen and fairness and love and whatever else we might kid ourselves matter really doesn’t mean shit when the bad things happen to you.

“I don’t want to go up there.” The words burst out of me, small and panicked.

“I know it will be hard.” Carlisle touches my shoulder reassuringly. “And I’m really sorry that you have to go back there so soon after…what happened. But there’s paperwork that you need to sign and hospital policy is that babies can’t be released to anyone but a parent without a court order.”

“It shouldn’t be like this,” I whisper miserably. “This isn’t the way it was supposed to be…not at all.”

“I know.” Carlisle leans back against his seat, looking exhausted. “And it breaks my heart and makes me so damn angry that it is happening, and to you and Rosalie of all people! I wish…” His voice trails away. We both know there’s no point in wishing, not now.

Walking through the hospital and up to the maternity unit is like some kind of nightmare alternate reality. This place is dedicated to birth, to _life_ …and yet somehow it’s all gone wrong and all I can see in the pastel hallways is the overarching shadow of death. This is the place I first became a dad, this is where I experienced the most precious, beautiful moments of all my babies’ births…but now all I can think of is that this is where Rosalie died and the pain of that subsumes everything.

We’ve timed it badly. It’s visiting hours, which means the maternity ward is busy, a hum of happy talk and laughter running through the halls. The underlying joy contrasts starkly with the black grief of my loss, and I think if I didn’t have Carlisle at my back I’d turn and run. Instead I keep moving forward, eyes on the ground so I don’t have to see the visitors with their balloons and flowers or the newly post-partum moms moving through the halls with small steps and still big bellies and smiles that they can’t stop.

_That should be you, Rosa-girl, sore and tired and blissfully happy anyway. Instead you’re cold and still and our baby has no mother and I wish I could just close my eyes and join you…_

At least this torment is short lived. Carlisle has called ahead and they’re expecting us, so we’re met at the desk by the people in charge and immediately ushered into a private room. There’s the head midwife, and the chief of obstetrics, and someone in a shirt and tie that I think is a lawyer.

Once again, they tell me how sorry they are. Once again, I nod like their words mean something.

There’s a small pile of paperwork that needs to be completed and I sit down and fill it in, slowly and laboriously. _Holly Esme Hale-Cullen. Emmett McCarty Cullen. Rosalie Lillian Hale._ I scrawl my signature at the bottom of the papers, my heart aching at all the spaces left blank that should have held Rosalie’s swooping, decorative signature.

A nurse brings the baby in while I’m doing the paperwork, wheeling her in in the transparent cot and parking her by the window. “Here she is!” she says, with slightly forced cheerfulness. “All cleared to go home.”

Carlisle immediately picks up the baby. “Hello Holly, come have a cuddle with Grandpa. How did she do last night?” he asks the nurse.

“Oh, she’s doing great! Feeding beautifully, sleeping well, lots of wet diapers – one of the easiest newborns I’ve had to deal with! She passed her hearing test this morning with flying colours and all her other assessments have been totally normal. We wrote everything down, since she didn’t have anyone there…” The nurse flushes with embarrassment. “I just mean, we thought you might want to know what she’s been doing. Give you a head start on getting her routine going when you get home.”

“That’s good, thank you,” Carlisle says with a smile. “Let’s hope she keeps on being so easy!”

“Do you want me to get her dressed for home?” the nurse asks. “Did you bring anything for her to wear? She spit up milk on her other outfit so she’s wearing a hospital outfit – her dirty clothes are just in the bottom of the cot there.”

“Emmett will do it,” Carlisle says. “Have you finished with the paperwork, Em?”

I know what he’s doing. He wants to push me into being a dad to this baby, to see if I can do it. He wants to be sure that I‘m going to be able to do the right thing, that I’m going to be able to look past the fact that this baby’s birth cost me my wife, and take care of her anyway. Love her anyway. And I’m angry that he doubts me, but at the same time...

_I don’t know if I can do this._

I finish filling out paperwork and shuffle the papers together, and then look slowly through the diaper bag for the outfit, but I can’t put it off forever. Eventually I have the clothes and Carlisle lays the baby on the bed and I walk over and look down.

_Oh baby girl…you look like your mom._

She’s beautiful, and not just because I’m looking at her with biased Daddy-eyes. Holly seems to have skipped the newborn potato phase and looks like an illustration of a baby from one of those old-fashioned books, all pink and white and gold. They’ve given her a bath and her hair smells like baby wash and curls on her forehead…she is utterly, heartbreakingly perfect.

_I’m sorry baby girl. It should never have been like this._

Holly’s a big newborn, but compared to the ten and a half month old Bram and Zeke that I’m used to handling she seems tiny and delicate, and I feel like my big hands are all thumbs as I peel off the hospital blanket and t-shirt. She wails as she’s stripped off, but after five babies I’m pretty quick at this and I have the security tags snipped off and her dressed in the outfit Rosalie wanted in moments. And then, without really thinking about it, I lift her up and hold her close against my heart. I curve one hand around her head, the other cupping her butt, and I kiss her hair and she stops crying, and in that moment nothing else really matters. She’s mine and she needs me…and right now that’s enough.

“It’s all right baby Holly, it’s okay…Daddy’s got you.”

Carlisle comes and hugs me, tears shining in his eyes and streaking down his cheeks. “I love you Emmett. Let’s take your baby girl home.”

Holly screams when I strap her into the car seat, and the nurse leans over with a pacifier. “I’ll just give her this?”

I open my mouth to say no, but then shut it abruptly. Rosalie has always refused pacifiers for the babies until they were breastfeeding well, but that’s not a rule that matters now. So I hold the pacifier in Holly’s mouth until she starts sucking on it and the room falls quiet.

“Here’s your goody bag.” The nurse presses a bulging tote bag into Carlisle’s hand. “All the notes we took on Holly are in there, all the usual information pamphlets and the samples…we put in lots of extra formula samples for you too! There’s a plastic bag in there with Holly’s dirty clothes too.” She reaches back into the hospital bassinet and brings out a stuffed zebra with an endearingly crooked embroidered face and a pink bow on it’s tufted tail. “There’s this too. All of us nurses and midwives took up a collection and chose it from the gift shop downstairs. We all felt so bad…we wanted Holly to have something cute for her bassinet. And babies like contrasting colours, so a zebra was a good choice…we’re really sorry.”

I can’t bring myself to speak, but I take the toy and tuck it into the car seat by Holly’s feet. My hand brushes hers, and I feel her little fingers opening and closing tight around mine. It’s just reflex, I know that, but even so… _Daddy’s here._

“We’ll be in touch when we’ve completed our internal investigation and review,” the head of obstetrics says. “You know how that works Carlisle. And Emmett, once again I want to give you my condolences over your loss.”

I make a noise that could be _thanks_ or could be _get fucked_ …even I’m not exactly sure. Either way it’s enough to end this situation and I finally get to leave, moving quickly through the halls, looking down at Holly so I don’t have to see anything else.

“Why did they bring the lawyer?” I ask Carlisle as I fasten the car seat into the minivan. “Do they think I’m going to sue the hospital or something? Am I supposed to?”

Carlisle shakes his head. “Whenever something like this happens at the hospital there’s a possibility of medical malpractice or wrongful death suits. I’m not sure that either of those will apply to Rosalie, although we’ll certainly look carefully at the results of the investigation and if there’s even the slightest doubt we’ll get an independent review. But Edward and I have talked about it and I did some extra research this morning, and it sounds like everyone followed correct treatment protocols for Rosalie’s situation. I think it was just an unavoidable tragedy, and there’s no legal recourse for that.”

The idea of legal action is exhausting. Would it even help to have someone to blame?

Daisy’s class still has time to run when we reach the gym, so I unsnap the car seat and Carlisle and I carry Holly inside. I forget about the way new babies are like catnip, and as soon as I appear with the car seat hooked over my arm I’m surrounded by half the moms from Daisy’s class.

“Congratulations!” Lisa exclaims, kissing my cheek. “I’m so happy for you. How did the birth go? How’s Rosalie?”

“Oh look at her! Hello beautiful,” Jackie coos into the car seat. “She’s gorgeous Emmett, looks just like a mini Rosalie! What’s her name?”

“When was she born? She looks a good size – I know Rosalie said she felt small but it looks like that might have been just because she wasn’t twins!” Krista jokes. “I can’t believe you’ve brought her out already; is Rosalie at home taking a nap? I’m sure with six of them now rest is going to be at a premium!”

 _They don’t know._ I raise horrified eyes to Carlisle as I realise that Diana and Daisy have probably told her classmates, but the news hasn’t filtered out to the moms yet. And now they’re cooing over the baby and congratulating me and laughing and making jokes about newborns and exhaustion and I can’t do it. I can’t sit here like it’s just another Monday class and my life hasn’t fallen to pieces.

_Every time I say it I feel it all over again, that howling, screaming, biting agony of Rosalie being dead…I can’t do it here._

Even though parents are supposed to stay in the viewing area I just turn and walk away. I hear the brief exclamations of surprise at my rudeness change to consternation as Carlisle’s quiet voice explains, but I don’t stop to listen. Instead I head over to where Daisy and her class are lined up by the uneven bars. My daughter sees me and comes running over, meeting me at the side of the mat and immediately hopping up and down on her tiptoes trying to see into the car seat.

“Oh, she’s so cute! Can I show everyone my new baby sister?”

“Sure.” I put the bucket seat onto the ground and it’s immediately surrounded by a gaggle of girls in leotards, all leaning in gazing raptly at the baby and making cooing noises and exclaiming about how cute and tiny and adorable she is.

“Her name is Holly,” Daisy says importantly. “Which is what I picked out.”

She strokes the baby’s head possessively, and even in my misery a smile quirks up the corner of my mouth. Daisy had been less than impressed four months ago when she’d learned that a baby sister was on the way – I’m glad to see that she’s changed her mind.

Diana peeks in at the baby too. “She’s beautiful…just like you!” she says to Daisy with a quick hug, before she comes to stand beside me.

“Sorry,” I say a little awkwardly. “I didn’t meant to interrupt, but we need to get home so I have to pick Daisy up early.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Diana says breezily. “Like I said, whatever works for you guys right now works for me. Daisy’s had a good day.” She glances over at the parents clustered around Carlisle and bites her lip. “Look, the news is going to spread pretty quickly through the gym community. Would you like me to pass along funeral details to our members who’ll want to come? Is there anything you want me to say? Or not say? I don’t want you to think I’m gossiping, I really just want to do anything I can to make it as easy as possible on you.”

“It would be good if you could share the funeral details,” I say hoarsely. “Thank you. Come on Daisy.” I reach down and pick up the car seat. “Let’s take Holly home.” 


	9. Trying

Esme has dinner cooking when we get home, all the boys bathed and in pyjamas, and the living room cleaned up with the playpen set up in the corner, the swing contained safely within it.

“Do you like how we got everything ready for the new baby?” Noah asks. “I helped Grandma wash all the bottles, and we put some diapers and wipes in a basket, and a wash cloth in case she spits up.”

“We had to put the swing in the baby cage,” Mac adds. “Me and Noah got it out ready for the baby but then Zeke climbed in and broke it…but Grandma fixed it. And then he tried to climb into the basket thing too so Grandma put it in your room.”

“Thanks boys, that’s great. And Esme, you should take over for me more often,” I say. “The house never looks this neat when it’s me in charge.”

“Edward and Bella helped, but they thought they’d go home for dinner,” she tells me. “Now let me have a look at my little namesake here!” She takes Holly out of the car seat and holds her tenderly in the crook of her arm. “Oh Holly…don’t you look like your mommy!” There are tears in her eyes as she looks over at me. “She’s beautiful Emmett.”

“Let me see.” Noah tugs at her shirt. “Grandma, let me see.”

Esme sits on the sofa and the kids crowd in close. Daisy strokes Holly’s hair and Noah touches her tiny hands and they both plant kisses on her forehead. Holly blinks at them placidly and yawns, which makes them both laugh.

“You okay?” I say to Mac, who is hanging back. “Going to say hi to your sister?”

He shakes his head miserably. “I just…don’t be mad, but I still wish we had Mommy, and not a new baby.”

I wrap my arms around him. “I’m not going to be mad at you for that,” I say softly.

“I hoped that when you went to the hospital there would be a mistake.” His face is buried in my neck and I know that I’m the only one that can hear him. “I wanted you to come home with a surprise that Mommy was really okay.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears. My poor boy, with his fierce love and wild imagination...this is so hard for him. “Oh buddy that would have been so amazing, but it’s not going to happen. Once someone is dead, nothing can change that. Nothing can make Mommy come back.”

“I know that really,” Mac mumbles. “But…”

“You just wish Mom was still here,” I finish. “I know. I really wish that too.”

I carry him into the kitchen and sit him up on the counter. “But Mommy not being here, that’s not Holly’s fault. I know it’s hard to understand, because Mom went to the hospital with the baby in her belly and then she didn’t come back, and yet here’s the baby instead. Truth is it’s kind of hard for Daddy to understand how this happened too. But I do know that Holly didn’t do anything to make Mommy die.”

“Really?” Mac says doubtfully.

I nod seriously. “Yes. It absolutely wasn’t Holly’s fault. And right now, Holly really needs us…because as much as we’re all sad and missing Mom, Holly’s missing her too.” I measure out the tiny amount of formula a newborn needs and run the bottle under the hot tap for a few moments. “Think about it Mac, all Holly’s ever known is being inside Mom’s belly, hearing her voice and her heartbeat and feeling all cosy and comfortable in there. Now suddenly she’s out in a big, noisy, scary world…and she doesn’t even have a mommy to help her feel safe. So we’re all going to have to do our best to love her and take care of her and show her that even without Mommy she’s got lots of people who love her.”

_I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, Mac or me._

“Do you think you can help me with that?” I turn off the faucet and shake the bottle of formula.

Mac nods, and I grin at him. “Good. Now, hold out your hand.”

He does so, and I tip up the bottle so that a drop of formula falls onto the skin of his inner wrist.

“Okay big brother, first thing you can do to help me out…is this milk for Holly too hot or too cold or just right?”

Mac giggles. “Just right!”

I give him a fist bump. “Thanks. Now look, do you want to give this bottle to Holly? You really don’t have to – I know it’s hard to get used to a new baby and I’m not going to make you help out in ways you don’t want to, but if you want to give her this first bottle at home I’ll help you.”

Mac’s hand closes around the bottle and he nods. For a moment I hug him, fiercely and desperately, and then lift him down from the counter so he can run into the living room.

“Daddy said I can give her milk!”

“But I wanted to!” Daisy objects. “I’m the oldest _and_ the only sister, I should get to go first!”

“Everyone’s going to have plenty of chances to feed the baby,” I say dryly, following Mac. “Believe me Daisy-bug, if there’s one thing babies do a lot of, it’s drink milk. Every three or four hours…how about I wake you up at midnight for your turn? And then at three am?”

Daisy giggles. “I don’t mind staying up late.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I tell her teasingly. “You can change all the poopy diapers too, if you want! But Mac’s going to feed Holly this time…sit up on the sofa buddy, and we’ll work this out.” I arrange a pillow on his lap to help him support Holly as he holds the bottle to her lips. “There you go. Tip it up a little more…no, don’t shove it into her mouth too hard, just go gently…she’s still learning how to eat.”

“I’m doing it right…look, she likes it!” Mac says as Holly realises what’s going on and begins to suck in earnest.

“You’re doing great,” I say softly. I try to not think of what _should_ be, Holly nursing at Rosalie’s breast, but instead I focus on what’s right here in front of me; Mac’s pleased smile and his messy curls bent over Holly’s golden head. “You’re doing a really good job.”

Holly finishes the bottle and then I help Mac sit her up a little and rub her back. She burps like a drunk at a bar, which the kids find hysterical, and then Noah and Daisy insist on having a turn to hold her.

Even Bram and Zeke crawl over to investigate what we’re all wrapped up in, although they’re a lot more interested in her empty bottle and the pacifier sitting on the edge of the sofa than in Holly herself. It’s crazy how the new baby suddenly make the twins look like giants, and she looks like a delicate little doll next to their ten-month old sturdiness.

“You should take a couple of photos,” Esme says to me. “It’s Holly’s first time meeting her brothers and sister – you should capture that.”

“Yeah…I should.” I fumble for my phone. “It’s hard to…I mean, I know what I said to Mac about making her feel loved, but it’s hard to remember that this should be a celebration.”

Esme squeezes my arm. “I know. But as hard as it is, for Holly’s sake we have to try. Despite the painful circumstances she deserves to be loved and cared for and celebrated as much as the others did. Remember Emmett, love isn’t only a feeling…love is an action too. Your feelings for Holly are complicated right now and that’s okay- rather than fight with your emotions, focus on what you can DO that shows that you love her.” She hesitates for a moment. “There’s no point in getting too ahead of ourselves, but Holly’s going to grow up one day and her mother dying at her birth is never going to be an easy thing for her to live with. Something like photos taken now, with everyone loving her the first time they meet her…they might mean a lot to her. Maybe enough to convince her that she was a light in the darkness of this time, rather than the cause of it.”

The evening drags on. Esme serves dinner and cleans up afterwards, while Carlisle and I get the kids ready for bed. Or at least try to – it’s one of those nights when it’s an absolute shit show. We’re down to the last diaper in the little twins’ room and in the time it takes me to grab the clean ones from the laundry Zeke manages to pee all over their bed so I have to change everything. Noah accidentally spits toothpaste foam on Mac’s hand while they’re cleaning their teeth and Mac retaliates by throwing Noah’s toothbrush into the toilet, which ends in both of them screaming. Daisy cries because she can’t find pyjamas (there are two pairs in her drawer), cries because brushing her teeth hurts (she has a loose tooth), cries because her hair is too tangled when she has to brush it (Esme and the leave-in conditioner to the rescue), and then cries again because her mom’s not here to read Harry Potter and her dad’s such a bad reader (I try not to take it personally, Carlisle steps in). Noah can’t find his Banky (baby blanket he still sleeps with) and accuses Mac of hiding it, Mac finds it under Noah’s bed and hits him across the face with it. More screaming. Bram and Zeke’s favourite stuffed cat is in the washing machine with the peed on sheets and without it they take ages to settle down, emphatically rejecting the almost identical cat (Alice gave them one each when they were born, one grey and one brown) as a completely unsatisfactory substitution.

I hold it together, but only just. When they’re all finally in bed and the house is quiet I mutter an excuse to Carlisle and Esme and then go and lock myself in my bathroom. For a long time I just lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling, before I reach for my phone.

_You are so beautiful._

I scroll through my pictures, the captured moments of my life, the pain almost blinding as I gaze at what I’ve lost. Rosalie. My beautiful wife, my best friend, the best thing that ever happened to me…she’s gone. How can that be? How can I go the rest of my life only ever seeing that gorgeous face and captivating smile in these photographs? How can that light, that _life_ , be over?

I turn the shower on so that no one will hear, and as the grief rises up to drown me I bury my face in a towel to further muffle the noise and I howl.

_Rosalie...my beautiful girl…I can’t do this without you! How do I live my life now that the very centre of it is gone? How do I keep this family together without you, without your strength and love and heart?_

_Why did you have to leave me?_

When I finally emerge from the bathroom I find the tv on in the living room and Carlisle asleep on the sofa in front of it. Esme is beside him, holding Holly and looking pretty drowsy herself.

“Hey.” I slump into the recliner. “Thanks for today.”

“How are you holding up?” Esme assesses me keenly.

“You guys should really go to bed,” I say, avoiding the question. “You look pretty tired, and Carlisle’s passed out already.”

“Holly will be due for a feed soon,” Esme begins.

“I’ll do it. Seriously, I’m not going to sleep anytime soon so I may as well sit up with her for a while.”

Esme looks at me worriedly. “You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself Emmett. I know it’s difficult, but you have to make yourself eat properly, and get enough sleep…”

“I’ll sleep as much as anyone does with a newborn,” I say, with a sigh. “I know what you’re saying, but I’ll just sit up with her until she has another feed and then I’ll put her in her bassinet and go to bed too. Honestly Esme, it’ll be fine. And you and Carlisle need to take care of yourselves too! You probably need sleep more than I do!”

Esme laughs gently. “I can’t deny I’m tired. But even so, I don’t know about leaving you sitting up alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” I say. “I’ll be with Holly. And maybe...I don’t know, maybe it will be good to be alone? Maybe then I’ll start to feel like this is real. Maybe start figuring out how to live like this, without her…” My voice cracks.

Esme lays Holly gently in my arms and then hugs me tightly, kissing my forehead like I’m no older than Mac or Noah. “I love you.” She sighs and stretches. “Maybe you do need some time. Carlisle and I will go to bed, but promise me you’ll wake me in the night if you need me? If Holly doesn’t settle and you want a hand, just come and knock on the door. Okay?” She waits until I promise before she turns and shakes Carlisle’s shoulder to wake him, and hand in hand they disappear down the hallway.

Holly wakes a short time later. I feed her in the recliner, mindlessly flipping through the channels at the same time. She drinks most of her bottle, but she’s restless afterwards and whimpers and writhes fretfully, her face crumpled in distress. Somewhat robotically I pat her back as she frogs her legs and grunts, eventually managing to fill her diaper.

“Well, that’ll make you feel better I guess,” I say, reaching for the wipes and diapers Esme has conveniently left in a basket placed out of the little twins’ reach. “Let’s clean you up.”

She’s crying properly as I change her diaper, and the scrawny little legs and black umbilical stump remind me of how heartbreakingly new she really is. “You should have your momma,” I whisper over the sudden lump in my throat. “And I’m so fucking sorry that you don’t.”

Moved by pity and the knowledge of what this baby has lost, I slip my t-shirt over my head and take her, dressed only in her diaper, back into the recliner. Pulling a blanket over both of us I let her curl up on my chest, skin to skin, and maybe she doesn’t have her mother but at least she has my warmth and my heartbeat and my love to welcome her to the world.

_Please let it be enough…please let ME be enough._

I’m the one crying now. Holly is quiet, warm and relaxed as she lies on my chest and looks up at me with her big blue eyes, her beautiful face resting against the roses Jonah tattooed over my heart years ago. I stroke Holly’s back, her newborn skin feeling velvety soft and just slightly too large for her bones.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry your life began right when hers ended, and I’m sorry you’ll never have more than those few moments in the bathtub right after birth. I’m sorry that you’ll never know the reality of just how she loved you…because she loved you baby, she really did. And I loved you too…I DO love you…” I swallow hard. “I do love you. Whatever happened…I love you. And nothing’s ever going to make up for what you’re missing out on right now, but I’m going to try.”


	10. Spreading the News

The remembering, the next morning, isn’t any easier. The same moment of dreamy content as I wake to the smell of her, and the same brutal, crushing blow as I remember.

_Rosalie died. It’s real. She’s gone._

The smell of her is the skeleton t-shirt, clenched in my fist and held to my face while I slept. The warmth next to me is Noah, who must have crept in during the night to sleep curled up against my back. The pain is a bone deep ache of sorrow and loss that takes my breath away with the cruelty of it all.

_I don’t know how I can do another day of this._

But it’s Holly’s bleating wails that woke me, and she can’t be ignored. I shove Rosalie’s t-shirt under my pillow and then scoop the baby up from the bassinet beside the bed and stagger into the kitchen for a bottle, hoping she doesn’t wake the rest of the house before I get it for her.

I’d forgotten how slowly newborn babies drink. Bram and Zeke slam back milk like it’s beer at a frat party now, but Holly sucks half-heartedly and falls back to sleep before she’s three quarters finished. I rewrap her swaddle and put her back in her bassinet, but before I can crawl back into bed myself I hear the little twins babbling and banging at their baby gate, and all I can do is sigh and get on with my day.

It’s hard. I’m tired after a broken night of sleep with Holly, but the children’s needs and demands are endless and sit heavy on my shoulders. Getting breakfast, getting them dressed, braiding Daisy’s hair, changing Holly’s diaper and giving her another bottle…I feel like I’ve run a marathon by the time it’s 9am.

After all the phone calls Esme, Carlisle and Edward made, the news of Rosalie’s death is now beginning to spread fast. Notes have gone out informing the elementary school community. Daisy’s gym knows. Jonah has shared it within our close-knit tattoo scene. Jack and Lily have informed colleagues and family friends. Rosalie’s work colleagues have been told and are passing it along to all the people she interacted with in her career. Bella and Edward posted announcements on social media that are being shared and then shared again, spreading out to reach friends and acquaintances from all stages of our lives.

People start reaching out. My phone rings, message alerts sounding, notifications piling up. Everyone wants to say sorry. They want to share their own shock and grief, and offer their love and support and help.

I can’t hear it. There is still a slight sense of unreality shrouding the entire situation, protecting me from the worst of the grief, and I need that. I can’t listen to people saying how sorry they are and talking about her death when every word feels like another stab in the heart. I don’t have the emotional space for dealing with anything but my children’s hurt and my own endless sorrow. So I switch my phone to silent and take the landline off the hook, but when people start dropping by with food even that’s not enough. I leave Holly with Esme, strap Bram to my back and Zeke on my front, and take the big kids on a walk down along the river.

It’s good for us all to be outside, doing something normal. Clementine walks with us like a big dog, snatching mouthfuls of grass from the edges of the river now and again and then trotting to catch up with us. Mac and Noah and Daisy swing sticks around and jump on fallen logs and chase each other and pretend to sword fight and do all the usual things that kids do when they’re playing out in nature. Walking along and watching the three of them, with the weight of the two babies on me, I feel more like myself than I have since it happened.

When I reluctantly turn us back towards home, Daisy falls into step beside me, reaching up to hold my hand.

“I’m glad we came for a walk,” she says.

I give her a brief grin. “Me too.”

“Grandma said Alice and Jasper are coming from New York today,” she goes on, a little hesitantly. “They’re going to stay until after Mom’s funeral.”

“Yeah. It’ll be good to see them.” I look at Daisy, noting her worried frown. “Won’t it?” She adores her aunt and uncle, and usually visits are met with gleeful anticipation. Her adoption has never been a secret, she’s always known that Alice and Jasper are her biological parents and it’s never been an issue. Until now.

“Well, I was just wondering…” Daisy bites her lip. “I was just thinking that…I don’t have to go away and live with them now, do I?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

“Because…well, Alice was really my mother first…and she couldn’t look after me so she gave me to my real mom so I would have a mother, but now she’s dead and…I didn’t know if that means Alice has to…to take me back,” Daisy mumbles.

“Oh Daisy-bug no, that’s not how it works.” I squeeze her little hand. “Alice loves you, you know that, but adoption is for always. This is our family, and I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“But how do we have our family without Mom?” Daisy asks bleakly. “You need a mom for a family.”

God this hurts. How can I take something that is unimaginable to me, our family life without Rosalie in it, and convince Daisy it’s okay?

“Families are all different,” I say at last. “There are families that don’t have mothers in them, and they work out okay in the end.”

I give a half smile as a sudden memory rises up in my mind; six year old Alice, who had just lost her abusive mother and was finding her feet in a strange foster family, telling me what she believed family was. “Family is just about who really loves you,” I tell Daisy. “Alice told me that once. And you have lots of people who love you.”

“Will Grandma just live with us forever then?” Daisy asks. “Because how else can it work? You’ll have to get a proper job now so we have money, so someone else will have to look after the little twins and be there when me and Mac and Noah get off the school bus. And what about gymnastics? Mom is the one who goes to work every day and organises everything.”

Geez, kids and their brutal honesty!

“You know I have a ‘proper job’ right?” I say. “I only work part time right now instead of full time like Mom does, but I do tattoo people and they do pay me in actual money. You took me to career day at school!”

Daisy smirks. “Well, I took Mommy too.” Between me drawing fake tattoos on all her classmates and Rosalie bringing in some cutting edge bio-mechanical prosthetic limbs, Daisy had dominated third grade career day.

I laugh a little raggedly. “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen Daisy-bug, but you don’t need to be. You’re going to be taken care of, I promise you.”

“I believe you, but I just want to know _how_.” Daisy sounds frustrated. “Because it’s all going to be different without Mommy, and that’s…I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

“I wish I could give you an answer,” I say honestly. “But I don’t really know what’s going to happen, not in any detail. We have enough money for now though, so don’t you worry about that. And Grandma and Grandpa will stay and help us out for as long as we need them, until we can decide what we’re going to do in the long term. But whatever we do Daisy-bug, we’re all going to stay together. You, me, Mac, Noah and Bram and Zeke. And Holly.”

Back at the house Lily and Jack have arrived again, Lily dragging her lighting set up and a camera bag.

“I’m going to do a newborn shoot with Holly,” she tells me. “Daisy, do you want to be my assistant?”

“Yes please!” Daisy beams.

“Okay, start by turning up the heat – when we’re taking photos of babies we want it to be nice and warm so they’re comfortable,” Lily says. “Let’s set up in her nursery.”

I unhook Bram and Zeke and sit them in high chairs, giving them sippy cups of water to keep them occupied while I quickly cut them up some fruit and the last of the ham. There are several strange casserole dishes and plastic containers in the fridge and on the counter and, once the twins are busy eating I start prising off the lids to investigate.

“A few people have brought by food,” Esme says. “Krista from the gym brought a roasted chicken and a tray of roasted vegetables that you can just heat up and serve. Mrs Barry dropped by with cookies. Someone called Laurie brought the container there of meatballs and pasta sauce – she said her daughter Ava is in Noah’s class? And there was a fruit basket delivered from the PTA.”

“Oh great,” I say, a little hollowly. “That’s really nice.”

Esme hugs me. “People care, and they really want to do whatever they can to make it easier for you. They know nothing can really make it better, but at least if they gift you a meal or some other food then you won’t have to worry about cooking or grocery shopping.”

I pick at a couple of grapes from the fruit basket. “Daisy’s worrying about those practical kind of things, like who’s going to look after them all and run our house now and make all the money that Rosalie’s not here to do it. She’s old enough to know that Rosalie pretty much ran the show…she doubts my ability to either make money or deal with the rest of it.” I half laugh. “She’s not wrong though – Rosalie is the one who kept this family going.”

“We will work all that out,” Esme says firmly. “Daisy doesn’t need to worry, and _you_ don’t need to worry either. We’ll have to make long term plans at some point, but now is not the right time to even consider it. For now we’re here to help you with the day to day, and Jack and Lily have insisted on taking care of you financially until you get back on your feet. Edward and Bella are keen to help too, and Alice and Jasper will be here today and may be able to stay for a little while.”

“That was the other thing Daisy was worrying about. She thought that since Rosalie is…not here now, that she would have to go live with Alice and Jasper. Like the adoption would be undone because they gave her to Rosalie and now she’ll be returned or something.” I shake my head. “I thought she understood all that.”

“She’s just confused. Daisy’s whole world has been turned upside down in the last two days. She’s gained a sister and lost her mother, and that’s a lot to deal with. She’s only eight years old, so it’s not surprising that she might have some muddled ideas about what happens now,” Esme says comfortingly. “She just needs as much reassurance as we can give her that she’s loved and will be taken care of, and we should probably try for as much consistency as the circumstances allow. Alice will be here later and she’ll be more than happy to reassure Daisy too that she loves her and is here for her, but she doesn’t want to step in and take over as her mother.”

I end up being the one to make the drive to the airport to meet Alice and Jasper. No one asks me, Esme and Carlisle aren’t asking me to do anything, but I’m suddenly desperate to get out of the house and away from it all and practically beg them to let me. They’re slightly hesitant, I don’t know if they think I’m going to kill myself in the car or just drive away and never come back, but they eventually hand over the keys to the Mercedes and I head off.

It’s a relief to be alone. It’s a relief to be away from a house cloaked in grief, away from the home that slaps me in the face with memories every time I turn my head. It’s a relief to be away, even if only for a moment, from the pain and grief of my children and the responsibility of having to push aside my own heartache to soothe theirs. Being in Carlisle’s Mercedes, with the music cranked and no baby car seats installed in the back, is like a brief escape from my current miserable reality and I am so grateful for it.

Alice and Jasper’s flight is delayed, and I wander aimlessly around the airport while I wait. I like airports. I never even flew on a plane until I was eighteen and Rosalie took me to Hawaii for a vacation after we finished high school. Since then there have been a bunch of other vacations and I’ve always liked the airport part of it. I like watching the planes land and take off. I like watching the people who are always either in a tearing hurry or else filling in hours of spare time. I like browsing for kitschy souvenirs in overpriced stores.

I withdraw some money from an ATM so I can buy something to eat, and nearly fall over when I see the amount in my bank account. I guess Jack’s followed through on his promise to put some money in to keep us going, and evidently ‘keeping us going’ is something that Jack considers extremely costly. I buy a soda and eat a hamburger and fries, the first proper meal I’ve had since breakfast two days ago, and feel a little stronger. Esme was right that I need to take care of myself – between the shitty sleep and not eating properly I’m not going to last that long. I toss my trash and then head down the concourse towards Alice’s gate.

She’s the first one out, scanning the lounge for me and zeroing in on me almost immediately. Before I can even stand up she’s beside me, grabbing my hands with hers and looking at me with a face so full of raw love and sympathy that it turns me inside out.

“Hey Monkey…” My voice cracks. “It’s good to see you…”

“Oh _Emmett_.” The tears spill down Alice’s cheeks. “I am so, so sorry.”

And she wraps me in her skinny arms and I break, right there in the airport lounge. The agony rips through the slightly numbing fog of grief and I can’t stop it, can’t hold back the misery and the tears and the ugly outward manifestation of the howling vortex of pain that’s consuming me. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the airport, that everyone is either staring or avoiding us in embarrassment…this is my Monkey and she loves me and she will, just for a moment, help me hold the burden of my loss.


	11. Storms

I don’t know how long the storm lasts but eventually it ebbs a little and I sit up, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.

Alice wipes her face and kisses my wet cheeks. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” I hug her again, quick and hard. “Thank you for coming.”

“As if I could stay away.” Alice looks like there’s more she wants to say, but she shakes her head and kisses me again, before digging in her pocket for a handkerchief.

“Emmett.” Jasper reaches over and grasps my hand, his eyes direct and sorrowful. “I’m sorry.”

“We have to get the luggage,” Alice announces. She takes me by one hand and leads us off to baggage claim. “Are you doing okay? I mean, obviously not, you look terrible, but…are you as okay as you can be? How are the kids? Oh my god, those poor babies…”

Jasper touches her shoulder and subtly shakes his head, and Alice wipes her nose again and pulls herself together as we reach the baggage carousel.

“Right. Look out for my suitcase, it’s red.” She does her best to smile at me. “Do you have a picture of the new baby? Holly? You didn’t send one and I didn’t want to bother you by asking, but I’d love to see her.”

Once again I feel a brief stab of guilt about how easily Holly slips my mind. “Lily’s at home doing a newborn photo shoot now so there’ll be some good pictures coming up, but here are a couple from the last couple of days.” I pass Alice my phone.

“Oh, she’s so beautiful! Look Jas, isn’t she gorgeous? Just like her mama…Emmett, can you grab my case? It’s just coming round now.”

I step over to the conveyer belt, lifting off her red suitcase as it trundles past me. It weighs a ton and I swing around to ask her if she’s packed bricks in it or what, but then I hear Rosalie’s voice coming from the phone in her hand and it feels like I’ve been slapped.

_“Look Emmett, it’s Holly…oh sweet baby, I love you…look what we did, Emmett, look at our beautiful girl…”_

The case drops from my hand, and Alice reaches towards me, her face stricken. “Emmett I’m sorry! I was just scrolling through the pictures of Holly and the video auto-played.”

“It’s okay,” I say tightly. “You didn’t know it was there.” I take the phone back, my hand shaking. “That was right after Holly was born, before everything…before it all fell apart.”

Alice’s eyes are brimming with tears. “Rosalie looks so happy. I hadn’t realised that she’d had some time with the baby, I thought the…problems started right after the birth.”

“No, there was a little bit of time.” It comes back to me again, in distorted flashes of memory. Holly, born into the water and held close in loving arms, blinking her eyes as Rosalie and I gazed back in wonder and I fell in love all over again. Perfect bliss held in one precious sliver of time.

Before water turned to blood and the world turned dark.

“It wasn’t very long.” I turn away and pick up her suitcase. “Jasper, do you have a bag? Let’s grab it and go home.”

But getting home is worse, because Esme has been into my room and changed the sheets and emptied the hamper in the bathroom and hung fresh towels. So even though it looks the same, the skeleton t-shirt is no longer in the messy bed, the lingering scent of Rosalie is gone, and the impression that she’s just stepped out is shattered. A mix of terror and rage rises up in me, and I feel completely out of control as I slam out of the room.

“What did you do? Why…why the fuck would you do that?” I’m dimly conscious that I’m shouting and the kids look terrified, as I rake my hands through my hair and stare wildly at Esme.

“Emmett, we…”

“I didn’t want anyone to touch it! Where did you put it?”

“Put what, specifically?” Esme is trying to keep calm. “We didn’t move anything, it was just…”

“You shouldn’t have!” My eyes are blurred with tears and I nearly fall down the basement stairs in my haste to get down to the laundry. “I can’t…fuck!”

“Emmett, what exactly are you looking for?” Esme follows me down to the basement. “If you tell me I can help you…”

“The t-shirt!” The sheets are in the dryer, the towels spinning in the machine, but the hamper of clothes is sitting there and I’m bawling as I claw through it. “The fucking t-shirt…she was wearing it when…fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

And then somehow Esme’s pressing it in to my hands, the soft cotton with the slight stiffness of the glow in the dark paint, and I bury my face in it and sink down to the floor, keening because _it still smells like you Rosa-girl, I can’t let you go, please don’t go, oh fuck I want you so bad…_

“Oh sweetheart, shhh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Esme is crying too, kneeling beside me and holding me tight. “It’s all right, I should have known, I’m sorry…”

“I can’t be without her,” I choke out brokenly. “I can’t…Mom, I don’t know…this hurts too bad…”

“I know, I know…” Esme has always had the gift of saying the right thing, but this is beyond even her. Rosalie is dead, my heart is broken, and there aren’t any words. All she can do is hold me while I lie on the floor and fall apart – again - sobbing into a t-shirt that is already beginning to smell of nothing but my own tears.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I snuffle.

“It’s all right.” Esme holds my head on her lap, combing her fingers through my hair. “I should have known not to do anything without asking you. But the children were playing on your bed and one of the little twins got out of their diaper so we had to change the sheets. I picked up everything else without thinking…I’m so sorry.”

“Rosalie wore this shirt trick or treating, and then in the morning she wore it to the hospital,” I say with effort. “It smells like her…or it did.” Now it’s damp with tears and snot and hopelessly I let it fall to the floor. “I don’t know how to be without her. From the time I was sixteen years old there has never been anyone else in the world for me but her…that’s more than half my life. How do I live without her?”

“I don’t know.” Esme looks desolate. “I wish I knew how to answer.”

“It hurts so bad.” I close my eyes. “I love her so much.”

“All you can do is give it time.” Esme rubs my shoulder. “It will get easier…eventually.”

I can’t even imagine it. This pain is so all encompassing I don’t think I can even bear it, but the thought of _not_ feeling it, of ever moving on…unthinkable.

“I need to get it together,” I mutter. “I scared the kids, shouting like that…I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay for them to know that you’re hurting too,” Esme says gently.

“I don’t think there’s any getting away from that.” I haul myself upright. “I feel so raw…like I’m feeling too much or not enough and it swings from one to the other so quickly I can’t even keep up. Like I cried like a baby at the airport and then came home and freaked out and now…I don’t know. I’ve just got a headache and all I’m thinking now is how much I hate this basement.”

“Do you want this?” Esme picks up the t-shirt and folds it carefully. “I don’t have to wash the things in the hamper if you don’t want me to.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter now.” I look at her through swollen eyes. “I shouldn’t have yelled; thank you for everything you’re doing. I couldn’t do this without you and Carlisle.”

Esme’s eyes are full but she smiles at me tenderly. “That’s what family is for.”

_______________________________________________

 _Oh God yes, you feel so good…yes…do that again…_ I’m kissing Rosalie, feeling her hot and demanding under my hands. She arches her back and wraps her legs around my hips, lips and tongue against my neck, trailing kisses down my chest as she spreads her legs. _Please, please, please, I want you._ Then I’m pushing into her, the pleasure and intimacy of our bodies joining this way almost overwhelming as I say her name and move faster. Harder, deeper, the way I know she likes it, the way I like it, because we’re so good at this after all this time, and _god yes I love you love this Rosalie you feel so good…_ But then I look down at my cock buried in between her legs and what I thought was hot and slick with arousal and pleasure is really blood, flowing and pooling and puddling, and I’m fucking a corpse.

_No no no NO!_

I wake up, drenched in sweat and drowning in the horror and nausea of what I’ve just seen in my dreams. I jerk out of bed and into the bathroom, landing hard on my knees in front of the toilet, leaning over and retching as the tears pour out of my eyes.

_Oh god Rosalie, you were dead…but before that I got to touch you again._

“Dad, are you sick?” It’s Noah, who must have slipped into bed beside me while I slept, standing anxiously in the bathroom doorway.

“I…yeah, maybe a bit…” I slump back against the wall for a moment. “I’ll be all right.”

Noah tugs on his hair and eyes me worriedly. “Want me to get you a drink of water?”

“Sure.” I concentrate on making my breathing regular and even, waiting for my thudding heartbeat to slow and the feeling of revulsion the dream has left me with to fade. “Thanks.”

Noah fills a cup of water at the faucet and hands it to me carefully. “There you go…do you feel better or are you going to be sick again? Do you want me to get a bucket?”

“Nah, I’m okay.” I swallow some water. “Did you come sneak into my bed again?”

“I had a bad dream.”

I shudder. “Yeah, me too.”

We head back into my bedroom and Noah jumps into the bed. I cannot bear the thought of sleeping and risking falling back into that horror in my subconscious, so I lean up against the headboard and draw the quilt up over Noah’s shoulders.

I gently take his hands away from his hair, unwinding several strands that have pulled out and wrapped around his little fingers. “You need to stop pulling your hair,” I say, although as I see the scabs and cracks in the skin over my bruised knuckles where I haven’t been able to keep my own hands out of my mouth I recognise the hypocrisy of this. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“What was your bad dream about?” he asks me.

I stroke his hair. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Do you want to tell me about yours?”

“I dreamed I was lost.” His fingers creep up to his hair again. “I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m here.” I hold his hand in mine. “You can go back to sleep buddy…I’ll be right here.”

Noah’s fingers close around mine, and I rub his head with my other hand until his eyes flutter shut and his breathing deepens as he drifts into sleep.

I wait until his limp hand drops mine before I move. I slip silently off the bed and go outside to sit on the porch with Clementine. Something about her long ears flicking backwards and forwards and her sweet smelling breath whiffling at my hands for treats has always been comforting. I find the dandy brush and groom her, running it rhythmically over her coat as the stars fade away and the sky starts to lighten. The sun comes up, making the dew wet grass glisten.

It’s going to be a beautiful day, but all I can feel is darkness. Today is the funeral and I’m going to have to say goodbye.

_Rosalie…I’m not ready for this._

I don’t want the day to start, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The babies wake and I change diapers and make bottles and cook pancakes, I answer the children’s questions and explain again what’s going to happen during the day, and it all feels like sleepwalking. Nothing feels real.

_How can you be dead, Rosa-girl? It feels so wrong…you can’t really be gone, can you?_

I stand in the shower until the water running over my body is stone cold, but even that doesn’t touch the coldness inside. Even when my teeth are chattering and my whole body is stippled with goose flesh I don’t get out, not until there’s a soft knock at the door and Edward slips in. He reaches past me and switches off the shower, and holds out a towel.

“Come on.”

Silently I step out, wrapping the towel around my hips.

“Are you going to shave?”

I hold up my hands, which are trembling, and after a moment’s hesitation Edward presses against my shoulders.

“I’ll help you,” he says gently. “Sit down.”

I sit numbly down on the toilet and close my eyes, passively letting Edward lather up my face and then shave me. His hands, his skilled pianist and surgeon hands, are gentle and assured.

“Alice and Jasper are here now,” he tells me. Carlisle and Esme have been sleeping in my spare room since it happened, and Alice and Jasper have been sleeping at their house although spending most of the day over here. “Carlisle and Esme are getting the babies ready and packing diaper bags, and Alice is doing Daisy’s hair. Bella’s trying to convince Mac to get dressed…at the moment he’s wearing his underpants and a Darth Vader helmet and insisting that he doesn’t like fancy clothes.”

I’d smile if I could. “He can wear whatever he wants. Probably better if it wasn’t only his underwear, but…who cares? He doesn’t like wearing things with buttons.”

“It’s funny to me because Eliza is the exact opposite. The fancier it is, the more she likes it – there is no such thing as too many frills or sequins or too much glitter in her opinion. We had a tantrum this morning because Bella told her she wasn’t allowed to wear her tiara and plastic sparkly dress up heels,” Edward says.

“Ah, you should have let her wear them. Rosalie would have laughed; she always says Eliza’s got style.” My breath catches. “I dreamed of her last night.” A wave of heat flushes through me as I remember the wild, blissful feel of it before the horror. “It felt so real.”

“That’s going to happen,” Edward says slowly. “The dreams.”

He hands me a towel and I wipe my face as he rinses off the razor, but when he reaches back to dry his hands I grab them in mine. “Edward…”

His fingers crush mine, and tears stand out in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you Emmett, not today. I am so sorry. I would do anything…but there’s nothing.”

He leans forward and hugs me, his arms hard across my back, and I push my face into his shoulder. Not for the first time I am profoundly grateful that I was lucky enough to end up with Edward as my brother.

“You’ll be all right,” he whispers.

Finding my clothes is another ordeal. I’ve spent the last three days wearing the same jeans and t-shirt so that I didn’t have to go into the closet and look at Rosalie’s things, but my weddings-and-funerals suit is in a dry cleaning bag in the back and I don’t have a choice now.

Alice and Esme have been in here to select Rosalie’s funeral clothes, but there’s no way I would notice a single missing outfit and I have no idea what they’ve chosen. Rosalie has always loved clothes and the closet is jam-packed with them. My heart aches as I look at it all, at so much of her life represented by racks of clothes. Maternity clothes bunched at the front, the designer pants and shirts and dresses and skirts that she hasn’t been able to fit in for the past months all hanging in organised categories. Gym wear and ski gear, jackets and sweaters and t-shirts and jeans and baskets of socks and lingerie. Shoes. So many fucking shoes. Sleepwear, most of it more ornamental than practical. And behind it all, the plastic shrouded wedding dress she wore at twenty one when she married me...blindly I turn away, to the maybe twenty per cent of closet space that is dedicated to my clothes, and grab my suit bag from the back corner. I’ll get changed in the bedroom.

_Jesus Rosa-girl…even the simplest things are so hard now._


	12. Last Goodbyes

Our arrival at the funeral home feels like something of a circus, with seven adults, four mobile kids, two big babies in a stroller and one screaming newborn in a bucket car seat. Brian Henderson meets us in the foyer and takes stock, and we’re hustled into a small side room before he sets about shaking hands.

“We’ve got everything set up in the large chapel for your service,” he tells us. “Beautiful photographs and flowers. Rosalie is in the ante-room right now, and Jack and Lily are already here spending some time with her. You all will have the same opportunity while we wait for the guests, and we’ll close the casket and move it in to the chapel when you’re ready to start.”

“Uh-huh.” I unstrap Holly and lift her up, cradling her against my shoulder. “Mac…don’t touch that!”

Mac slouches over to me and I reach down and touch his cheek. He’s wearing sweatpants and a Yankees t-shirt and looks vaguely out of place in this formal setting, but I like the way he is always so stubbornly himself.

“How long does this take?” he asks dolefully.

“A while,” I answer honestly. “Grandpa Jack and Grammy Lily are in with Mommy now, and we can go in and see her soon.”

“It’s really Mommy?” Mac asks.

I stifle my sigh. _Please don’t make me go through it again, Mac._ “It’s Mommy, but just her body.”

The children are what have kept me going the past few days. They’ve kept me grounded, and as much as my stomach turns just to think about it they’re probably the only reason I’m still here. But their grief compounds mine, and their anger and bewilderment and denial has fuelled my own alongside it. I understand their need for answers, their drive to understand what is happening in their own age appropriate way, but their constant questions and the constant repetition of the stark, unforgiving facts, has been like pouring acid in my wounds. Wounds that are fresh and deep and so very, very raw.

_Yes, Mommy is really dead. Yes, dead means that she’s gone and she can’t come back. She can’t wake up. She can’t talk to you anymore._

_Dead is forever._

_No, you didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault. There’s nothing we could have done._

_No, it’s not fair._

_Yeah…I wish it hadn’t happened too._

Mac chews on his lip. “I don’t think I want to look.”

“That’s okay.” I crouch down and give him a one armed hug, careful not to squash Holly. “You don’t have to. When we have the actual funeral, the lid is going to be closed. Seeing Mommy’s body is only for the people who want to; it’s really okay for you to just remember Mommy the way she was when she was alive.”

“That’s the way I want to do it,” Esme says gently, kneeling beside us and putting an arm around Mac’s shoulder. “I’m not going to go in and see your mommy now. We’re going to see lots of photos and videos today, and I want to just look at those and remember how she was. It’s okay for you to do that too.”

“What about the drawing I did for Mommy?” Mac looks around. “Did you bring it?”

We’d talked about the kids being able to put something in the casket with Rosalie if they wanted to. Daisy had written a letter, and Mac and Noah had done a handful of drawings. They’d wanted Bram and Zeke to do something too, so Esme had helped them make a mess with some finger paints and even managed a smudged, tiny paint hand print for Holly. 

“It’s in the stroller,” I tell him. “I can put it in the casket for you, that’s what I said I’d do for Noah.”

I hadn’t known what to do about having an open casket for the funeral. Jack had wanted it, but I was hamstrung on what was the best thing to do for the children. In the end Noah’s intense terror at the idea of seeing his dead mother, a fear that could not be soothed or allayed, had made the decision for me. This had been the compromise we’d settled on, a private viewing beforehand for anyone who wanted it and a closed casket for the service.

I almost wish we’d decided against it when I see Jack and Lily come stumbling out. In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined Jack Hale looking as broken as he does now.

Daisy is the only one of the kids who had said, after a lot of discussion, that she wanted to see her mother. Now that the time has come though she’s a little hesitant. Most of the others who want to say a personal goodbye to Rosalie have gone in when I go and sit beside her. She’s been reading a book, and she closes it on her finger and looks up at me.

“Hey Daisy-bug, do you want to go in and see your mom?” I do my best to smile at her. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind, but if you still want to I’ll go in with you.”

“I want to give her my letter,” Daisy says softly. “And I made her a bracelet.” She reaches into the pocket of her cardigan sweater. Her letter is a piece of folded notebook paper, with MOM written on the outside in swirling gel pen letters, and her bracelet is one of the braided friendship bands she and her friends are always knotting and gifting and trading. “It’s my best one.”

“It’s beautiful.” I hold out my hand and after a tiny hesitation she takes it, and we walk into the anteroom where Rosalie is lying.

It’s a small room, painted off-white, with a thick plush carpet that completely muffles our footsteps. There are no windows, but the lighting is soft and there is a comfortable velvet sofa and several occasional chairs. I take all this in before I can bring myself to look at the casket against the far wall that holds my wife.

She’s beautiful, lying there so still and perfect. Rosalie has always had the kind of face that wouldn’t look out of place carved from marble as an angel, or hanging in some gallery painted by a master, and the slight unreality of her lifeless face seems to heighten this. Rosalie is utterly flawless, completely exquisite…and she is dead.

_Oh Rosa-girl, my heart…I love you, and you’re gone._

Daisy presses against me, and I rub her shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay.”

“She looks…just like she’s asleep,” Daisy whispers uncertainly.

The two of us move closer, Daisy’s cold hand clutching mine. I can’t tear my eyes away from Rosalie’s face, so perfect and smooth and still, and my pounding heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.

“Can you put my letter in? And my bracelet? I don’t want to touch anything.” Daisy’s eyes are full of tears.

Before I do anything I stoop down and embrace her. “It’s okay. You were really brave to come in here – you don’t have to do anything else you don’t really want to.”

I take her letter and the sheaf of papers with the boys’ drawing and slip them into the casket at Rosalie’s side. That’s easy. Having to touch Rosalie’s unresponsive hand to install Daisy’s bracelet around her wrist is much, much harder. It occurs to me that it’s not as though I need to worry about it falling off when she moves, and I end up just wrapping it around her wrist and tucking the ends out of sight.

I’ve dislodged a photograph from under Rosalie’s hands while I’ve been doing this, so I reach for it. It’s a picture of all six of the children, Daisy holding Holly in the centre with Bram and Mac on one side and Noah and Zeke on the other. Lily must have taken it the other day when she did Holly’s newborn shoot. My heart catches, and I replace the photograph carefully under Rosalie’s folded hands.

“Do you want to talk to Mom or anything?” I ask Daisy. “I don’t have to listen if you don’t want me to.”

Daisy shakes her head miserably. “I don’t think so. She’s not really here, is she? I mean, that’s her, but she’s not…I don’t know. I just want to say to her I love you but…”

I lift her into my arms and hold her tight. It’s funny the way they fit, when it’s your kid – newborn Holly or roly-poly Thing One and Thing Two, chunky Mac or leggy Noah or spider-limbed Daisy, it doesn’t matter. When they’re in my arms it always feels like they belong there perfectly.

“Mommy knows that,” I whisper. “Wherever she is now, she knows that you love her. And you need to remember how much she loved you.”

Because that’s what it all comes down to. How much she was loved, and how much she loved us. And that’s why it all hurts so badly.

I hold Daisy until she stops crying, and use one of the multiple handkerchiefs Esme stuffed in my jacket pocket as we left home to mop up the tears streaked across her face. After that I walk with her over to the door and set her down on her feet with another quick kiss on the forehead, before she tiptoes out of the room.

I am drawn irresistibly back to the side of the casket. This body is Rosalie, and yet this is so far removed from the real Rosalie that the wrongness of it all is breathtaking. 

_I still can’t really grasp that you’re gone. Dead. I don’t know how to make that leap from the way you were on the last day, fierce and strong and powerful as you birthed that baby, to this…cold and still and dead. Gone._

I drag one of the occasional chairs over and sink into it. Daisy was right; Rosalie isn’t here, not really. But this lifeless figure in the satin lined casket is all I have left of the woman I’ve loved with passionate abandon for nineteen years, and I can’t bear the idea of leaving her.

“I miss you.” My voice cracks. “There’s so many other feelings, and they’re all so strong and hurt so bad – _sweet fucking hell, I hurt Rosa-girl!_ – but underneath it all…I just miss you. I miss talking to you, I miss touching you, I miss hearing you laugh, and seeing you smile…all those little things.”

It’s true. Even in the storm of losing my life partner and dealing with massive, heart wrenching emotional hits like having to parent my heartbroken, traumatised children alone and saying goodbye to the love of my life, the little things still matter. Living the rest of my life without Rosalie is a sorrow and horror almost too big to comprehend, but watching the kids do something amusing and looking for her to share a smile and realising that she’s not there is what hurts right now. Eating a variety box of chocolates and looking down at the end to see a sad little pile of Turkish Delights left behind because Rosalie was the only one in the house who liked them…that about bought me to my knees. _The rest of my life without you_ is too much, but _Zeke has a bucket on his head and Bram is using it like a drum and this is hilarious and you would love it but you’re not here oh fuck_ …that’s a kind of pain I can comprehend more easily.

“I don’t know how my life works without you.” I touch her hair, because it’s the only part of her that still feels the same, even if the scent of it is something different. “How did it come to this?”

I lean my head against the side of the casket, listening to my thudding heartbeat and the blood humming in my ears, and staring at Rosalie’s perfect profile until my eyes blur.

_Please don’t let this be real. Please don’t be dead. I can’t be without you. I don’t know how to do this. Don’t make me._

I don’t know how long I sit slumped by her side, afraid to move because it means moving on. This moment, as bitter and heartbreaking as it is, is still the last time I will be able to look at her beautiful face and I am loath to let it go.

“Emmett?” I don’t hear Carlisle enter the room; it’s his touch on my shoulder that brings me back to myself. “I’m sorry, but I think everyone is here. Brian said as soon as you’re ready they’ll close the casket and move Rosalie to the chapel for the service. It’s time.”

“Right.” But I don’t move.

“We can give you a little more time,” Carlisle says gently. “We know how hard this is.”

Making an enormous effort, I force myself to my feet. “No, we should get started. I’m ready.”

_Ready as I’ll ever be, anyway…even if that’s not ready at all._

I can’t watch them close the casket on her though. I leave the room and go back to my family, waiting until Brian comes in five minutes later to tell us that it’s all been arranged and we’re good to start. I help Esme toss all the toys and books and sippy cups that the kids have strewn over the room back into the stroller, then I heft Bram and Zeke up into my arms.

“Come on. Time to go.”

Our service is being held in the largest chapel the funeral home offers, and the place is full. Glancing quickly over the crowd I can see many familiar faces – Jonah and my apprentice Liam and our old apprentice Lainey, people from Rosalie’s work, friends from high school and college, people from the kids’ school and preschool and gym and playgroup. There are other people I don’t know as well and some of them I don’t even recognise, probably family friends of Esme and Carlisle, or Jack and Lily, workmates and colleagues here to support them. The pity and compassion in everyone’s faces is palpable.

The air is redolent with the smell of roses, the scent rising from the elaborate flower arrangements decorating the space and hanging heavy in the air. Alongside the flowers are several easels holding enormous portraits of Rosalie, and my stomach tightens when Zeke sees them the same time I do and his little baby voice burbles delightedly in my ear.

As soon as I take a seat in the front row Bram and Zeke are fighting to get down from my lap, desperate to play in the flower arrangements that have been arrayed so artistically on and around the stand holding Rosalie’s casket. I restrain them, but their protesting grumbles escalate to squawks and then shrieks in rapid succession and I look helplessly at Carlisle.

He steps forward to the microphone. “Before we start I want to say thank you for coming today, and let you all know how much we appreciate your presence. We also appreciate the flowers, but if they stay where they are they’re going to be destroyed by two curious babies, so I hope you’ll understand if we just pick them up and put them somewhere a little bit safer.”

There’s a quiet ripple of laughter through the crowd, and one or two people come up front and quickly help Carlisle pick up any of the floral tributes that are within the babies’ reach and move them to safety. I let Bram and Zeke down to the floor and they immediately crawl over to the casket and start playing peekaboo with the cloth covering the stand.

“Can they pull that down on their heads?” I ask Edward, having a sudden horrifying vision of the casket tumbling down and crushing the twins, and then tipping Rosalie’s corpse out in front of everyone for a gruesome finale.

He’s quick to reassure me. “No, it’s far too heavy.”

“Good.” I slump back in my seat. Simply getting through this funeral without breaking down is going to be hard enough, doing that while attempting to make two ten month old babies sit quietly and decorously at the same time will be absolutely impossible.

Noah climbs on my lap. I give him a hug and rest my chin on the top of his head. Unlike Mac’s refusal to wear ‘fancy’ clothes this morning, Noah had been upset that his clothes weren’t fancy _enough._ Khakis and a button down shirt didn’t cut it – he had melted down because he didn’t have a suit like Carlisle and Edward and I. In the end he’d been mollified by the loan of a tie, although even with the chunkiest tie-knot I could do it still hangs down practically to his knees.

Carlisle clears his throat and approaches the microphone again. “Thank you all for coming today, to help us celebrate Rosalie’s life and say goodbye. For those of you who don’t know, my name is Carlisle Cullen. Rosalie became my daughter in law when she married my son Emmett, but she was also the daughter of my long-time friend Jack Hale and I’ve had the honour and privilege of knowing her since the day she was born.” He pauses and smiles down at Bram, who has crawled over to him and is playing with his shoelaces. “We don’t want today to be a very formal occasion. Rosalie’s death is a shocking tragedy and we have come together today to share our grief, but we also want to celebrate her life and remember her for the amazing person she was.”

And so the funeral begins.


	13. Rosalie's Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - - I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on this one – you guys are awesome. I mean, I know this story is kind of weird, and horrible, and leaves you feeling bad after every single chapter because it’s all so miserable and heartbreaking…and yet you’re all still reading, and sharing your own stories with me and being gentle with me about mine. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
> 
> As for the story, well this chapter is the funeral so we’re still in heartbreak mode. I actually can’t promise much cheerfulness for a while, to be quite honest. However I do promise that this is a story of healing as well as grief, and there’s an eventual happy ending on the horizon (albeit somewhat bittersweet, because omg Rosalie).

Carlisle reaches into his pocket and brings out some index cards, glancing down at his small, tidy writing. He’s probably the only doctor in the world who writes so legibly. “I’ve been asked to give the eulogy today, so I’m going to talk for a little while now. Rosalie’s life was cut heartbreakingly short, but she spent thirty-five years shaping the world to be what she wanted and she made the most of what time she had.”

Carlisle speaks well. He watched Rosalie grow up, and his genuine love and affection is obvious in his speech. He talks about the timeline of her life, her childhood and teenage years, her schooling and work honours and successes, her marriage and family. He talks about her personality, about her independence and passion and determination, her brilliance and dedication.

He talks about her sense of humour, and he makes people laugh when he pokes gentle fun at her quirks and foibles, because god knows Rosalie wasn’t perfect, despite that angel face.

He makes people cry when he talks about her family and what that meant to her, about how fully she loved me and how completely she loved her babies. He talks about the children, all of them by name, and the way that they will be Rosalie’s lasting legacy.

I listen, and smile at the memories his speech raises. Losing her is so brutal it’s hard to remember what it felt like to be that happy, but I know that I was. Falling in love with her, marrying her, watching her graduate and cheering on her achievements, becoming parents…so many amazing moments. Her life may have been cut so horribly short, but no one can ever say that she didn’t pack it full.

_We were really, really happy Rosa-girl. This grief is so powerful, so profound, but for all that…it’s worth it, for what we had._

As I listen I watch the children. They move from lap to lap, between me and Esme, Alice, Jasper, Jack and Lily, Edward and Bella, and I’m so glad that they have so many safe pairs of arms. When they get bored of listening to their Grandpa talk they dig through the stroller for crayons and books and read and colour and draw, while Bram and Zeke find the chunky little cars and chew toys someone had packed for them. They’re distracting, but it’s a good kind of distraction.

Carlisle finishes his speech, and amidst the tears and laughter Alice jumps up to take his place. “I’m Alice,” she tells everyone. “Rosalie was my sister in law, but really she was more than that. Admittedly we didn’t exactly start off friends – I was five years old when she came along and stole my brother’s heart and attention, and I wasn’t very pleased at playing second fiddle! But Rosalie waited out my sulks and became my friend, and then she became my sister, and then she became something even more special than that when she took a little piece of my heart and made it her own.” She smiles, tears standing out in her eyes and beckons to Daisy to join her. “Rosalie has always been one of the most amazing people I know. I love her, and I feel so lucky and glad that she was a part of my life for so many years. Now, Daisy and I have – sort of – written a poem and we’re going to read it together.”

Alice takes the microphone and kneels down so that she and Daisy can share it as they read their poem from a piece of paper. I’m not exactly a poetry aficionado but as they read, parts of it begin to sound familiar. When they’re done and come back to the seats Daisy climbs onto my lap and hides her face in my shoulder and I lean across to Alice.

“Did you seriously just make a mash up of pop songs to read at this funeral?”

Alice’s eyes are glinting with mingled tears and laughter. “Yes, we did...what gave it away?”

“The Taylor Swift bit, in the end! Daisy listens to that album practically every day!”

“Oh well.” Alice giggles. “I said I’d do a reading but I don’t know anything about poetry! And everything I found on the internet was just too much. Too dismal, too maudlin, too religious, too schmaltzy…it was all just so very much NOT Rosalie. So Daisy and I put that together. We can sing it too, it’s awesome, but she was too shy to do it today.”

I laugh, and snuggle Daisy closer. “That was really great. Truly…you did a great job little bug. Mommy would have loved it too.” My voice cracks a little, but I’m smiling as I kiss her head and settle back in my seat.

The video that Lily has put together is the last part of the service, and watching it just about turns me inside out. Lily is a professional photographer and her images would be art in their own right, but Rosalie’s beauty and heart and fierceness shines out of them and transforms them into something magic.

As the music plays and the images flicker Rosalie’s life unfolds before us in still photos and snippets of video, and my heart breaks all over again at the magnitude of what we’ve all lost. From a newborn baby so like our own Holly it’s startling, I watch with an aching heart as Rosalie grows up on film. A cherubic toddler with blonde curls and blue eyes, a confident child with long hair and a charming grin, the sublimely pretty teenager I first met maturing into an adult of such perfect beauty it’s almost other-worldly. The photographs show her life, all the things she did and achieved and loved; dancing and gymnastics, cheerleading and science fairs, horse riding and skiing. They show her at school, from her first day in braids and uniform, through her high school and college graduations. School plays, holiday parties, camps and sports days and prize giving ceremonies. Holidays with her parents, the three of them skiing, exploring foreign cities and tropical beaches and famous landmarks. Years of Halloween costumes, of Christmas celebrations, of fancy Easter dresses. There are pictures of Rosalie at work, with her computer and prosthetic limbs, commendations and published articles pinned on the wall behind her. There are photos with me, prom and dates and holidays…years of togetherness. Our wedding, the day we officially made it forever. The two of us at home with Clementine, painting and remodelling the house and making it ours. Photos of Rosalie as a mother, from her first skin to skin moments with Daisy moments after her birth, to her round pregnant belly, to arms full of twin babies. There is even a cropped snippet of the video I’ve watched a thousand times in the past few days, Rosalie in the tub with Holly, her face glowing with pure elation, blissfully unaware of the storm that was coming.

The video is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and watching it is one of the most painful things I’ve ever done.

_Is that what it comes down to? A life in pictures, a life of such beauty and joy and richness…a life cut so brutally, tragically short?_

_Surely this can’t be the end?_

It finishes on a photograph of Rosalie, the music continuing to play, only partly drowning out the sound of the whole room crying. For me there is nothing but agony as I stare at her face, so familiar and beautiful and beloved, anguish too deep even for tears.

_Rosalie…_

As the song fades away and silence falls, I realise that the only person left to speak is me. I don’t know how I can get up in front of this room, raw and vulnerable, and even come close to expressing how much Rosalie means to me. But in the moment, I know I need to try and I find myself on my feet by the microphone, staring out at a crowd that blurs before my eyes.

“I didn’t really prepare anything to say today,” I say at last. “I thought about it a lot, but I’m not really great with words and…there really aren’t words for this. If you’re here it means you knew Rosalie, and if you knew Rosalie you knew how much I loved her. I met her at school, when we were both sixteen. She flipped her hair all over my desk and I wrote her name in fancy lettering all over my planner because…well, I guess that’s what I did with my feelings when I was sixteen.” There is a gentle wave of laughter, and for a moment I smile at the memory before I take a deep breath and continue.

“But the truth is that I loved her right from the start, the kind of love that changes you and your whole world. That was a pretty rough time in my life and Rosalie was there for me through everything, never judging, just making me believe in myself and in the future we could have together. She taught me so much, and she made me a better person and together we made a life that was everything I ever wanted. She made me a dad six times over, the best gift of all, and our life together was fucking amazing.”

I half laugh, swiping at the tears that have started. “And I know she would hate me swearing in front of the babies, but I can’t help it because it’s true. Rosalie, and then with Daisy, Mac, Noah, Bram, Zeke and Holly…I got so damned lucky. I had everything I ever wanted, and it was fucking beautiful. People say marriage is hard work, but it was never hard for me to be married to Rosalie. Yeah, we’d fight sometimes - let’s face it, I’m a bonehead and you can’t say Rosalie didn’t like getting her own way – but there was never a moment where we weren’t rock solid. For fourteen years I got to be married to my best friend, the kick-ass momma of my babies, the love of my life and I can’t even imagine anything better than that.”

I look up at the screen, at Rosalie’s beautiful face smiling down at me, and when I go on my voice is soft and I speak to her more than the crowd of people before me. “I’m going to miss you so much Rosa-girl…but we had nineteen years of wonderful, and not everyone gets to say that. Losing you feels like losing myself…but damned if I would change one single thing about the time I was lucky enough to have with you.”

My heart is raw as Carlisle and Edward, Jasper, Jack and Jonah all gather at the front with me to help me carry my girl out. The weight of the casket on my shoulder is nothing to the weight of my loss as we pace slowly through the chapel and out to the waiting hearse. 

I don’t want to let her go. The soft thud of the casket sliding into place in the hearse seems to echo through me, and I bow my head and brace my hands against the smooth maple wood that holds her. I know that it’s only the shell of her, that the real Rosalie left days ago, but now that the time has come to release what is left I am paralysed by the enormity of it.

“Emmett.” Edward leans close, his eyes wet and his face drawn. “You need to let her go now.”

_Let her go…oh my beautiful girl, no._

My knees buckle and I would fall if it weren’t for Edward and Jasper, moving forward swiftly to wrap me in their arms and lend me their strength. The draw me back enough that Brian Henderson is able to step in and close the rear doors of the hearse, and they don’t let me go even as the car purrs into life and drives away, disappearing slowly down the long driveway. I feel like I’m drowning and I push them away, staggering slightly as I lean forward with my hands on my knees, trying to calm my breathing into something normal.

“Daddy?” Noah tentatively touches my shoulder.

I look at him, his serious little face tear stained and anxious, and somehow my breath comes easier. His finger is wound so tightly in his hair that the tip of it is purple, and I reach out and tenderly unwrap it. “I’m okay,” I say hoarsely. “I’m just…sad. That was really hard.”

“Was that box really heavy?” he asks.

It’s not that funny really, but it still makes me laugh a little and that’s enough to get me standing upright again and even smiling crookedly at Noah. “Yeah, but I had Grandpa and Grandpa Jack and your uncles and Jonah to help me.”

“Not really Jonah though,” Noah says. “He’s so short he couldn’t hardly even reach.”

That really makes me laugh, and I stoop down and give him a hug. “I love you buddy.”

He smiles back, obviously relieved that I’ve got myself together even just this much. “You can come inside now. Grandma says there’s cake.”

“Well, I guess I don’t want to miss that,” I say with a sigh. “Lead the way.”

I keep my head down as I follow him inside. I’m not ready to deal with all the people who have come. I know they’re all going to want to talk to me, to tell me how much Rosalie meant to them and how sorry they are, and I know I’m going to have to listen, but I need to check on the kids first and make sure they’re okay.

I don’t need to worry. Esme has Bram and Zeke in the stroller, happily gnawing on cookies and beaming at everyone stopping by to coo over and smile at them. Daisy is being loved on by her gymnastics coaches, and Mac is inspecting the food table with Jasper. Holly is being rocked in her car seat by Eliza, and I head on over there.

“Baby’s crying,” Eliza tells me, rocking harder. “I’m helping.”

“You’re a good helper,” I say, hastily scooping Holly out before Eliza can give her whiplash. “Thanks.”

“Oh Emmett, I was just warming some milk for her.” Bella appears at my elbow, shaking a bottle. “Do you want me to feed her…yes, Eliza, thank you for taking such good care of Holly for Mommy. Go ask Daddy to help you get some cake.”

I take the bottle from Bella as Eliza skips away. “I’ll do it. Thank you.”

Holly’s still wailing, opening and shutting her mouth like a goldfish, but the noise stops abruptly when I stick the bottle in. I watch her feed, her blue eyes squinting as she tries to focus on me, thinking numbly how much she looks like the baby photos of Rosalie I just watched.

Then, whether I’m ready for it or not, people start coming over to me. Hugs and handshakes and tears, questions and concerns and love pouring out for Rosalie and for those of us she left behind. So many people, some of whom I haven’t seen in years. The same words, over and over again.

_I’m so sorry. I loved her. I’m so sorry. I’ll miss her. I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry. If there is anything we can do? I’m so sorry. She was so amazing. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry._

And it hurts, it all hurts, but there is strength in it too. All these people who loved Rosalie too and who are now standing behind me, and my heartbroken children. She’s gone and the world is a darker, bleaker place for her absence, but she will never be forgotten.


	14. Breaking

The after funeral reception feels like it lasts hours, but eventually all the guests drift away and I’m left with my family, those closest to me. Even then there are final hugs and mumbled words with Jack and Lily before they leave, then saying goodbye to Edward and Bella and Eliza as they head for their house. Once they’re gone, feeling numb, I drop into a chair and lean forward, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. I am so tired.

“Em?” Alice kneels in front of me. “Jasper and I thought we’d take Noah and Daisy and Mac out for the afternoon, do something fun to give them a break. Maybe the movies, or the trampoline place or something? Is that okay?”

I look up. “Sure, if they want to.”

“I thought you might want a break from them too,” Alice says, hugging me tightly. “You’ve held it together really well today, but Mom said she and Dad need to do some stuff at their place and they were going to take the little twins and Holly with them, so I figured if Jasper and I took the big kids out for a while too then you can maybe…well, let it go a little bit.”

I don’t even know what might look like, but I smile wearily at Alice. “Thanks.”

Daisy, Mac and Noah are thrilled at the idea of going to the trampoline centre and arcade and happily pile into the minivan and drive away with Alice and Jasper. I snap the bucket seat into the other van and strap Bram and Zeke in, before I turn and find Esme’s arms around me.

“Are you sure you want to be alone, sweetheart?” she asks anxiously. “Carlisle and I can take care of things some other time if you’d rather have company.”

I don’t really know what I want, but I shake my head. “No, go ahead. You’ve been at my place for days, you need to go and collect the mail and put the trash out or whatever. I’ll be fine.”

But when I get home, the silent house feels unbearably empty. I sling off my suit jacket and grab a six-pack out of the bottom of the fridge and head outside, sitting on the porch sofa with Clementine’s head in my lap as I a crack a beer. I drink slowly, opening a second as soon as the first is done, gazing down across the paddock to the river and stroking the donkey’s soft grey fur.

How many hours have I spent sitting here with Rosalie? How much time did the two of us spend out here, snuggling babies, sharing a drink at the end of a long day, making love out in the open air, talking and laughing and just being together?

_I wish you were here, Rosa-girl._

Suddenly I want her. I’m aching for the touch of her hands, the heat of her skin and the weight of her held in my arms, the feel of her body wrapped around mine. I’m thinking about sex but it’s not really about that. It’s about her touch and what that touch has always been for me, and the need for it hits me in such a gut wrenchingly visceral way that I want to claw my skin off just to make it stop.

Because wanting doesn’t matter. Need doesn’t matter. Nothing matters…because Rosalie is gone and I will never feel her touch, not ever again.

_She is dead and I have lost her and I can’t stand it._

Grief is ice cold, but anger is red hot and it flames through me, destroying every other feeling I have until there is nothing but rage. Rage because Rosalie is gone, because her life has ended so abruptly and prematurely. Rage, because she will never see the babies she loved so dearly grow through childhood and beyond and they will have to live their lives without her. Rage because I have lost the woman I loved, the rock that I built my life on…because she is gone and we have lost a lifetime that we should have had together. 

_Oh sweet fucking hell this is so not fair and I can’t do it, I can’t FUCKING DO IT, I CAN’T…_

And I’m slamming my fist against the sofa, again and again, until I’m through the worn old fabric and smashing against the frame. The beer bottle I forgot I was still holding breaks and beer goes everywhere, mixed with blood as the glass cuts into my hand, and I keep smashing my fist against the wood, sobbing and howling because there’s no one to hear me and I can’t hold it together anymore.

Clementine snorts in alarm and leaps away, her hooves clattering on the porch as she jumps down. I hit until I can’t anymore, and then I curl up around my bleeding, aching fist and sob.

_Rosalie, please…I can’t…I want you so much…god, I love you and I don’t know how to live when it all hurts this bad…_

__________________________________________________

“Emmett! What happened? Where’s all that blood coming from?”

Carlisle’s alarmed tones jerk me out of my fitful doze and I sit up abruptly, yelping as I inadvertently put pressure on my injured hand. I glance down at my shirt, the front of it stiff with dried blood, and then at the crimson soaked towel wrapped around my hand.

“Hey…yeah, it’s okay…I’m okay.”

Carlisle has Bram in one arm and Holly’s car seat in the other. He puts Holly into the playpen and sits Bram down by the basket of toys and comes quickly over to me. “Show me.”

“Oh my god!” Esme comes in, nearly dropping Zeke when she takes in the sight of me. “I knew we shouldn’t have left you alone! Emmett, please tell me you didn’t…”

I see the fear on her face, and the guilt cuts into my like a knife. “Oh no, I didn’t do…I busted my hand up, but it was an accident. Kind of.”

I gingerly unwrap the towel from around my hand, the pack of frozen peas I shoved in there in an attempt to ice the bruising falling to the floor, now thawed and soggy. The deep cuts from the broken bottle burn and my knuckles and fingers are swollen and throbbing in pain. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but it doesn’t look good either.

“What happened?”

I feel sick with shame. “I hit things.”

Carlisle sighs, gently turning my hand over in his. For the first time in my life I look at him and think how old he looks.

“You need to go to the hospital. Those lacerations probably need stitching, and you could have fractured any number of bones.”

“It’s not that bad,” I mutter. I’m so ashamed I can’t even look at him.

“It IS that bad. You can’t straighten your fingers or make a fist and those cuts…you’re lucky you didn’t slice through a tendon,” Carlisle says tightly. “Your hands are your livelihood Emmett, you need to fix this. I’ll take you to the hospital and you can get stitched up and get some x-rays done.”

I fumble at the buttons of my blood stained shirt with my good hand, but it’s difficult and a moment later Esme reaches out.

“Let me help.” Her hands are shaking, and looking down at her I can see that she’s blinking back tears.

“I’m sorry,” I say wretchedly.

Esme takes a deep breath. “It’s okay. Seeing all that blood, I was just…promise me you’re not going to do anything self-destructive Em. Please sweetheart, don’t.”

“I won’t,” I say. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Grief can do crazy things to you though.” A tear slips down Esme’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but after my baby died…I tried to kill myself. I was so lost in the darkness and the sorrow, I couldn’t see any other way out. But I was wrong Emmett, and I don’t want you to feel that way either. You will get through this.” She’s finished unbuttoning my shirt, and she gives me a little shake. “I know what grief feels like Emmett, but you have so much to live for. It might feel impossible, but you _have_ to keep going. Day by day, moment by moment – whatever it takes.”

My hand is oozing blood again as I yank my shirt off, so I grab one of the clean receiving blankets from the basket on the bookshelf and wrap it up again.

“I know,” I say. I glance across at Bram and Zeke who are blowing raspberries and spitting in each other’s faces and hooting with laughter; it’s kind of disgustingly hilarious to watch and is one of their favourite games. “I hear what you’re saying, and it wasn’t my intention to…hurt myself. Not exactly. I just had a couple of drinks and got really sad and then really mad and then…I don’t know. It just kind of happened.”

Carlisle hands me a t-shirt and I tug it over my head, struggling a little to get the blanket-wrapped lump of my injured hand through the sleeve. He embraces Esme, wiping the tear tracks on her cheeks and kissing her with such tenderness that I have to look away.

“I’ll take Emmett into the hospital and get him sorted out,” he tells her. “I love you, and we’ll be back when we’re done.”

I hug Esme too, and even though I’m twice her size her love is big enough to make me feel surrounded. “I’m so sorry Mom,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

In the car with Carlisle, I hold my fist up on my chest, the pain throbbing in time with my heartbeat. “I’m really sorry,” I say again. “I know it was stupid…I just wasn’t thinking. And I would have taken myself to the hospital but I’d drunk a couple of beers; I wasn’t exactly hammered or anything, but probably too much to drive with only one usable hand and the other one pouring blood everywhere.”

“Well, you made the right decision not to drive.” Carlisle looks exhausted. “You should have just called me though.”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you.” I don’t mention the fact that after I came inside and wrapped my hand in the towel and the ice I’d spent the next two hours drinking the rest of the beer, watching The Little Mermaid because it was always Rosalie’s favourite, and bawling like a baby. “And I guess…I was kind of embarrassed. It was a fucking stupid thing to do – I’m a grown ass adult and I’m behaving like an idiot teenager all over again.”

“You’re going to be angry,” Carlisle says. “That’s to be expected- I’m sure you’ve heard of the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance…”

I groan and bang my skull against the headrest. “God yes, don’t start. Gavin went on and on about that in therapy after my mother died.” 

Carlisle smiles ruefully. “I know it might not feel helpful right now, but at least you know that what you’re feeling is normal. Denial, anger, sadness…you’re going to feel it all. Not necessarily in that order, and sometimes all at the same time. You just have to perhaps find a better way to express those emotions and deal with them.”

“I don’t even want to believe this is really happening.” My voice is small.

“I feel the same way. And then I realise that it IS really happening and then comes the anger. I’ve never felt such impotent anger in my entire life.” Carlisle shakes his head. “I keep thinking that I was there when Rosalie was born…I should not be here when she dies. I keep thinking about you and the children left behind, living without her…and then I think about everything that Rosalie is going to miss out on and I want to hit something too. I’m old enough to know that life is seldom fair, but this just seems so manifestly unfair, even cruel…but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Well, don’t actually go and hit things,” I say with a weak laugh. “Because my hand is fucking killing me and I pretty much destroyed the porch sofa and scared the crap out of Clementine…and I still feel like shit. So it’s not really worth it.”

I fall silent as the hospital looms up in the distance. My memory jumps back to less than a week ago, when I drove this same route with Rosalie labouring in the van beside me. Four days ago, when my biggest concern was that her water would break in the car and ruin the upholstery. Four days ago, when she squeezed my hand through a contraction and I told her that I loved her. Four days ago, when the two of us laughed and touched her belly and said how much we couldn’t wait, because our future looked amazing. Four days ago, when the world made sense…

The pressure in my chest tightens so much that I feel like I can’t breathe. Pain radiates out through my ribs and the edges of the world turn fuzzy, and I’m suddenly terrified. Am I having a heart attack? Holy shit, I’m going to die and the kids are going to be left orphans and _jesus fucking hell…_ I give a strangled sounding moan.

“Emmett…what…you need to calm down.”

“I’m having a heart attack.” I brace my hands against the dash and lean forward, closing my eyes. I don’t know what hurts more, my injured hand or my chest. “I can’t breathe…I can’t…fucking hell, stop!”

“You’re not having a heart attack.” Carlisle sounds perfectly composed.

“You don’t know that!” I gasp. “I’m fucking dying…stop the goddamn car, I’m not going to the hospital!”

“If you’re having a heart attack, then the hospital is the place to be,” Carlisle says patiently. “And we’re almost there, so I’m not going to stop…just hold on Emmett…you’re not dying, I promise you.”

I don’t have the energy to argue. I’ve never felt anything like this. I press my uninjured fist hard against my ribs and lean back, keeping my eyes closed and listening to the blood pulsing in my ears as the world recedes into the background.

The car turns and slows and turns again, and even through my closed eyelids I can tell we’ve entered the multi level parking garage. I can hear myself moan again, as once again I’m assaulted by memories of bringing Rosalie here. Memories of hope, and love, and happiness, that all went so horribly, heartbreakingly wrong.

“Emmett…you need to breathe. You’re not having a heart attack.” The car stops and a second later the door opens on my side and Carlisle is there, gentle fingers pressing against my neck. “I know it feels like you might be, but you have to trust me that you’re fine.”

“I’m going to die,” I mutter. “I’m going to die, and the kids will be left with no one.”

“You’re not going to die. You’re fine. We’re parked a hundred feet from the ER and we can go and hook you up to heart monitor right now. But I think, if you slow down and breathe, you’ll find that you’re okay,” Carlisle’s voice is low and soothing. “You’re okay Emmett. This is anxiety, and I promise you it feels worse than it is.”

“I don’t want to go in there.” The shooting, seizing pain in my chest is starting to ease, but my eyes burn with unshed tears as I open them and look up at Carlisle. “This fucking place…”

“I know.” Carlisle gently draws my hands away from my chest. “I know.”

“She died here. Right upstairs…”

“Yes. But you’re not dying…although you _are_ bleeding again, and we really do need to take care of that.” Carlisle rewraps the loose end of the blanket over the freshly seeping patches of blood and holds my forearms until I get unsteadily to my feet. “I’m sorry Emmett. I know you don’t want to be here.”

I’ve been sweating, and I shiver as I hit the colder air outside of the car. My chest still feels tight and my breathing is fast and shallow, but the radiating pain in my ribs is easing off and I think Carlisle is probably right that I’m not dying of a heart attack. I follow him miserably through the garage and into the ER, waiting in line for triage. Carlisle greets the nurse on the desk, who takes a quick look at my hand and promises to get someone down as soon as she can.

“Do I even have insurance anymore?” I mutter to Carlisle. “All that was through Rosalie’s work…shit, how am I supposed to pay for this now? Can you treat me for free in the parking lot or something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlisle says firmly. “It’s on my list of things we need to look at, but we don’t have to do it today. Rosalie’s employer won’t cancel the policy immediately, and we can look into suitable plans for you and the children to transition to when it becomes necessary. I know you’re not particularly comfortable accepting money from Jack and Lily, but they’ve already said they’ll take on the health insurance costs for all of you and I think you should let them.”

“Funny how Jack’s gone from calling me a gold digger to absolutely throwing money at me,” I say wryly.

“It’s the only way he know to show that he cares,” Carlisle says. “Money has always been God to Jack, but losing Rosalie has shaken him to his core – he’s seeing that there are certainly things that money can’t buy. And you know he loves the children.” He nudges me towards the waiting chairs. “Sit down. I’ll get you some juice.”

I feel sick and shaky and don’t even want any, but when Carlisle gets back from the vending machine he opens the bottle and presses it into my good hand anyway.

“Drink it,” he tells me. “You’ve probably lost quite a bit of blood; a little bit of sugar will do you good.”

I do as I’m told, and of course he’s right. The tart sweetness of the juice tastes good, and as I tip up the last of the bottle I finally feel the pain in my chest easing. I’m definitely not dying. “Thanks.” I hold my bloody blanket-wrapped fist up by my shoulder in an attempt to ease the ache, and settle back in to wait.


	15. Fake It Til You Make It

“It always feels a bit different on this side of the doors,” Carlisle muses, gazing around the emergency room waiting area.

“Well, it’s not my first rodeo,” I mutter. “A few visits after my stepdad smacked me round, bringing Alice here after she overdosed on my mother’s drugs…getting my head stapled back together after that maniac beat me up in the school bathroom for dating Rosalie. Fun times.”

“I haven’t thought about that in years,” Carlisle says, a note of amusement in his voice. “He got expelled, and Esme spent months fighting with the board about it. I wonder what happened to him.”

“Prison, I hope.” I sigh. “I’ve had to bring Daisy here too, when she sprained her ankle at the gym. And we brought Mac after he fell off the porch and dislocated his elbow. And again when he somersaulted off his bike hard enough to crack the helmet. Also that time he nearly cut the tip off his little finger…and when he tried to ride Clementine and she kicked him in the ribs…and don’t forget about when he was a toddler and he ate a bunch of tiny components of one of Rosalie’s prosthetic arm projects…oh, and that time he got a bead stuck in his ear…and the Lego block up his nose…”

Carlisle is laughing. “He’s certainly a handful. I still remember his x-ray with all the screws and computer chips.” His smile fades and he looks at me carefully. “You’re feeling better?”

“Yeah. I mean, my hand hurts a lot, but the rest…I think maybe I was just freaking out.” I bite my knuckles.

“It’s understandable. I don’t want you to think I was just being dismissive of your symptoms back in the car – obviously chest pain is something we take seriously and we will get it checked out. But given the situation…it seemed a lot more likely that it was a panic attack, and the best thing we could do was get you calm,” Carlisle says.

I slump low in my seat. “Great. A panic attack? I’m going crazy on top of everything?”

“You’re not going crazy.” Carlisle is quick to reassure me. “Panic attacks can happen to anybody at any time, and given the situation you’re dealing with it’s not at all surprising that you might experience one. You spent the morning at Rosalie’s funeral and now you’re being forced back to the place she died…that’s a lot for anyone to take in.”

My name is called and I’m taken back to radiography for an x-ray, and then left in a treatment cubicle to wait again for results. It’s a medical student who eventually appears, looking very disconcerted to see Carlisle relaxing in the chair while I sit miserably on the bed.

“I’ve looked at the x-rays, and the good news is nothing is broken,” she tells me, as she slides a cloth draped table over beside the bed. “If you want to unwrap it and put your hand on here please?”

I gingerly unwrap the blood soaked receiving blanket. “Can I chuck this? It’s never coming clean again.”

The student offers me a trashcan, and then tugs on a pair of gloves and looks closely at my hand. “Okay Emmett, this is pretty swollen but like I said, there are no breaks or fractures so it’s just a matter of waiting for the bruising to resolve itself. These cuts and grazes on your knuckles are shallow and will heal on their own, but these ones need to be closed. I thought glue would work …Dr Cullen?” She looks anxiously at Carlisle.

Carlisle smiles at her. “If that’s what you think. I’m not here in any official capacity, I’m only here because I’m Emmett’s father and he needed a ride.” He leans over and inspects my hand. “Glue should work fine. We use it a lot in paediatrics, much quicker and easier and less frightening for a child than coming at them with a suture needle…”

The two of them fall into a discussion about the pros and cons of glue versus stitches, and I bite the knuckles on my other hand and try not to make any noise as my hand is washed clean. Once it’s dry she holds the edges of the wounds together and applies glue to keep it that way. I feel like I’m watching one of the kids do a craft project.

“That should hold it; the glue will peel off by itself after a week or so. Try to use your hand as little as possible, you need to give it a chance to heal without putting too much pressure on the skin,” she says. “Although all that bruising and swelling isn’t going to let you do much with it anyway…what do you do for work?”

“I’m a tattoo artist,” I say.

She grimaces. “Yeah, not for a week or two, sorry. Now I don’t actually need to bandage the glued lacerations, but I’m going to wrap your hand so that the other cuts and grazes are covered. Leave that on and keep your hand dry for twenty four hours, but you can take the bandages off after that and shower or wash your hands, but don’t soak it or use any soaps or lotions that might cause the glue to come away from the skin. Take some Tylenol for the pain if needed, and speak to your doctor if anything doesn’t seem right.”

It’s a relief to leave the hospital. My hand hurts, increasingly so as the numbing agent the doctor used before she treated it begins to wear off, but the physical pain is easier to deal with than the emotional pain of the past few days and I lean into it.

By the time we get home Esme has dinner over and done with, and is sitting watching tv with Daisy, Mac and Noah. Holly is asleep in the swing, and Alice and Jasper are bathing Bram and Zeke in the tub. I sit on the sofa beside Esme, and Daisy immediately crawls into my lap.

“What’s wrong with your hand? Is it broken?” She gently takes hold of my wrist and examines the bandage. “Grandma said you hurt it.”

“I’m fine,” I say, striving for lightness. “They glued me back together – give it a week or so and I’ll be good as new. How was the trampoline place?”

“Oh, great!” Daisy says enthusiastically. “We had so much fun!”

Mac and Noah chime in their agreement, but the three of them look exhausted and when the credits roll five minutes later no one objects when I tell them it’s bedtime.

I come back downstairs after tucking them in and giving kisses and settling them down to find Jasper expertly diapering and dressing Zeke, while Alice frantically grabs at Bram as he squirms out of her grasp and crawls rapidly away.

“Come back!” she exclaims, adding plaintively to me, “Gosh, he really doesn’t listen, does he?”

I laugh and scoop him up, nuzzling his neck and blowing raspberries against his pudgy belly just to hear his chortling laugh. “Of course he doesn’t listen. He’s a baby, he hardly even understands words yet.” I bounce him down onto the sofa and fasten his diaper, tugging his pyjamas on over the top. “Bedtime for you, Thing Two.”

“I’ve got their bottles.” Esme comes in to the living room carrying two bottles, and Bram reaches out to her. “I’ll put them in bed Emmett, and you can get yourself some dinner. We had pasta, and I left a bowl for you and Carlisle.”

I eat dinner quickly, despite the awkwardness of my bandaged hand, and then grab a bottle for Holly and take it into the living room as I hear her start crying.

“Let me feed her,” Alice says, quickly lifting the crying baby out of the swing. She settles onto the sofa beside me, Holly’s noise stopping the instant the bottle touches her lips. “See, I have the magic touch.”

“You have the milk touch,” I say wearily, flopping down beside her. “That’s what it takes.”

Jasper wanders off towards the kitchen and I hear him shifting the kettle and rummaging in the fridge. Carlisle and Esme are in the spare room, talking in quiet voices. Their relationship has always been something I admire and look up, but right now all it does is remind me of what I no longer have and I turn away, picking up the remote and blindly flipping through the channels.

“Holly is just gorgeous,” Alice says to me. “I mean, you and Rosalie do make good looking kids, they’re all adorable, but this baby is ridiculously beautiful. She looks exactly like all of those baby photos of Rosalie we saw today, but with a dimple.”

“What about you?” I ask, not wanting to think about the funeral where the baby photos of Rosalie had ben shown. “Have you changed your mind about having any of your own? The kid you gave to me turned out awesome so far.”

“Not a chance!” Alice says cheerfully. “Daisy is a gem and I adore her, but she’s going to be my only genetic legacy in the world – I’m no more interested in being a parent now than I ever was. I love hanging out with your kids, but I really love my childfree life too and I don’t want to change that. Spending the afternoon at the trampoline place is one thing, being solely responsible for something as helpless as this little pudding is quite another.” She strokes Holly’s hair back from her forehead.

“Thanks for taking the kids out this afternoon,” I say. “They had a blast.”

“Daisy has some mad trampolining skills! And Mac’s a daredevil…I’m half surprised we didn’t end up joining you in the ER because he’d broken an arm or something,” Alice admits. She hesitates for a moment before touching her fingertips to my bandaged hand, lying limply on my thigh. “Although maybe leaving you alone for the afternoon wasn’t the best idea?”

I shake my head, feeling the misery sitting like an immovable weight in my belly. “I’m a fucking idiot and I lost my shit, but it’s not like I’m not going to have to get used to being on my own.” The loneliness of a life without Rosalie looms up before me.

“Oh Em…” Tears well up in Alice’s eyes, and she leans in and kisses my shoulder. “I love you so much, and it’s killing me that this has happened to you. You were dealt such a shitty hand in life, and it’s not fair that you built something so beautiful out of that and now it’s been taken away.”

She puts aside the empty bottle and props Holly up, rubbing her back until the baby belches. A dribble of milk runs down her chin and I reach out and wipe it up with the bib, and then lift her from Alice’s arms and into my own. Holly is warm and relaxes limply into my arms, gazing up at me with her mother’s blue eyes. God, this hurts.

_I still can’t look at you without feeling like I’m drowning. I love you, and I know it’s not your fault…but your birth cost me everything. I look at you, and all I feel is pain over what I’ve lost and guilt over what you’ll never have._

“What am I supposed to do with her?” I say softly. “How do I raise a baby when just looking at her feels like being kicked in the teeth all over again?”

“You learn to love her,” Alice says simply, leaning against my arm and stroking Holly’s face. “You do what you have to do to care of her and you keep looking at her, and one day you’ll realise that you’re seeing _her_ instead of seeing what you’ve lost.”

“Fake it till you make it?” I say wryly, and Alice nods.

“If that’s what it takes. But it’s not really faking it either. I know you Emmett, you’re the best dad and you love your kids…you love Holly too. There’s just a lot of grief kind of getting in the way of you really feeling it.”

“I still find it kind of hard to believe she’s even here,” I say. “We tried to get pregnant for so long and it never happened – there was never any reason, we did all the tests and didn’t find anything. But after so many years we’d stopped even thinking about it as a possibility. We adopted Daisy, and then did IVF and got all the boys. We had five kids and we were busy and thought we were done when suddenly…there she was.”

I remember, with heartbreaking clarity, the day we found out. The consternation when we realised that it wasn’t only nursing baby twins keeping Rosalie’s period at bay, the terror at the idea of a sixth child when we were already stretched so thin with five, the shock when the ultrasound showed not a shapeless blob but an eighteen-week foetus almost halfway to being born. And I remember the way none of that really mattered, not when we saw her and the joy came in. Another daughter, the most beautiful surprise after all that time, and maybe the timing wasn’t ideal but it had felt like a miracle. I remembered all the nights I lay beside Rosalie, my arm around her and my hands on her belly as Holly moved beneath her skin. We’d given her a name and said how lucky we were and dreamed of the future she’d have, and that unplanned and unexpected baby had felt like a gift.

_I loved you Holly. Before you were born, I knew you and I loved you._

“Now I just feel so damned sorry for her,” I find myself saying, holding her tiny feet and feeling them disappear into my big hands. “She’s doesn’t get to have her momma at all…and she’s stuck with a dad who’s such a fucking mess I don’t have anything left for her.”

“It’ll come,” Alice says comfortingly. “You take care of people, it’s what you do…what you’ve done ever since you were a teenager taking care of me. You’re good at it, and you’ll be good for Holly too. In the meantime, Mom and Dad will help pick up the slack. I wish I could stay and help you but I have to go back tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

I do my best to grin at her. “It’s all right. Your public needs you…how can you have a play without a costume person?”

Alice laughs. “The run finishes in a couple of weeks. I’m signed up for a different one after that but I’ll be home over Christmas. The new one is going to be good though – you guys should come and see it, Rosalie will love…” Her voice falters, and she unsnaps Daisy’s bib and uses it to wipe her eyes. “Oh, I’m going to miss Rosalie! I know it’s nothing compared to you, but she’s been like my sister since I was a little girl, and she’s my friend…I really love her and I’m going to miss her so much.”

I wrap my free arm around Alice and let her cry into my chest. “It’s okay.”

“I’ve never lost anyone I really loved before,” Alice says, looking half ashamed. “Which sounds awful when you consider that my mother died, but...she was pretty terrible, and even though I know you loved her the truth was her death was a relief for me. I was sad and scared and mixed up about it, but mostly I was happy that we were going to stay with Mom and Dad and Edward, and they’d be our real family.”

It occurs to me for the first time that Alice was six when our mother died, the same age Mac and Noah are now.

“Do you remember much about her?” I ask urgently. “It’s just that you were six when she died and…I hate the idea that Mac and Noah won’t remember Rosalie! I know Bram and Zeke won’t, and Holly of course not, but the big twins…they’ve had six years of a mama who loved them and took care of them so well, and the idea that they won’t remember any of it…”

“I remember more than I want to, and none of it’s good,” Alice says honestly. “Mac and Noah will have better memories to hold on to, and they’ll _want_ to remember her. They’ll have all of us too, who knew and loved Rosalie and we can help them keep their memories real and strong, and we can fill in the gaps if that’s what they need.” She touches Holly’s small fist. “This little girl, and Bram and Zeke…we’ll tell them about their mommy. They’ll have pictures and videos and so many stories, and even thought they won’t remember her they’ll know for sure how special she was, and how much she loved them.”


	16. A New Normal

In a way the funeral marks the end of the first phase, that initial stage of overwhelming horror and staggering disbelief and heartbreaking pain. The following day Alice and Jasper fly back to New York, and then the next Monday the children go back to school and we have to take our first stumbling steps into what our life is going to be like now, without Rosalie.

It’s _hard._ It’s messy and ugly and difficult, and I don’t think that in my whole life I’ve ever felt quite so lost.

Esme and Carlisle pretty much move into my house, since my glued-together hand is so bruised and battered I can barely use it. There are six children who need care, three of them in diapers and one of whom is a newborn who eats every four hours around the clock, and I am barely holding it together. There are breakfast and lunch and snacks and dinners to be made every day, bottles to be washed and sterilised and formula to be made up, and never-ending piles of laundry to be dealt with. Despite Rosalie’s commitment to the environment I ditch the cloth diapers by the first weekend and have three boxes of Pampers overnighted with Amazon Prime. Someone has to make sure the kids get up and get dressed in the morning, and go to bed at a reasonable hour every night. Someone has to supervise teeth cleaning and bathe babies and push the big kids into the shower. Someone has to ask about homework and listen to reading and drive to gymnastics and play catch in the yard. I can’t do it alone. Even when Carlisle and Esme go back to sleeping at their house, Esme still spends every day with us, often from breakfast time until the kids are in bed at night.

I don’t go to work. I can’t, until my hand heals, but even when the swelling goes down and the glue peels off to reveal fresh, shiny, pink scars cutting across my palm and curving around the base of my thumb I don’t call Jonah and set up appointments and go back to the shop. I stay home, drawing tattoos on the kids with markers and designing twisted images of holly and roses, all vicious spikes and thorns and dark blood, that I tear out of the sketch book and toss in the trash so that no one sees them.

I sleep, a lot. It’s often broken sleep, with the baby waking regularly through the night, but sleep blots out the misery and I crave it. I go to bed as soon as the kids are all asleep at night, and most afternoons when the big kids are at school and the little twins are napping I sleep too, waking only reluctantly when one of the babies cry. I’m always exhausted. When Esme and Carlisle finally start sleeping back at their house, Esme often takes Holly home with them so I can sleep through the night. Edward and Bella take turns with her too. Everyone wants to help, and giving me the chance to sleep is sometimes the best that they can do.

I’m tormented by dreams of Rosalie. Vivid dreams of sex, of the two of us together, of the way she felt under my hands and in my mouth and wrapped around me. Dreams so intense that it all feels real, feels _so damn good_ , until I look down and see the blood and I’m back fucking a corpse. The horror of it is devastating.

I drink, more than I should. More than I let anyone know. Not when I have Holly, I am aware enough of the dangers there to hold off when I’m solely responsible for my newborn, but when she’s with Esme and Carlisle, or Edward and Bella, I drink so that I don’t have to feel so much. I drink so that I won’t dream.

I cry, often. Alone in my bathroom, the water running so no one hears me, I watch the video of Rosalie’s life that played at her funeral and sob. _I love you. I want you. I miss you._ I still cannot believe she’s really gone.

I don’t think about the future. I don’t make any plans. I can’t think beyond the next diaper change, the next bottle. Rosalie’s father offers to deal with the legal issues arising from her death, like her life insurance and her estate and all the random death paperwork, and I gladly let him. I sign whatever he puts in front of me without asking questions. I buy groceries with the money Jack puts in my account, and the bills that Rosalie hadn’t set to auto pay stack up on top of the refrigerator. I know there will be decisions to be made, a new normal and ordinary to establish, but I can’t bring myself to think about any of it. 

I miss her. Every single minute of every single day, I miss her.

Mostly though, I try to love my kids and do what I can to help heal their broken, hurting hearts. I hug them when they cry and I let them sleep with me when they have bad dreams and I tell them that’s it’s okay to laugh and feel good again too, that Mommy wouldn’t want them to be sad. I listen to their rage and wipe away their tears and reassure them that I’m here, that I’m always going to be here, that my love is big enough and strong enough to hold them all.

I have to hope that it’s true.

_________________________________________

“Good morning!”

“Hey.” From my position lying on the living room floor, I look up at Esme’s arrival. She’s got Holly’s car seat in one hand and two bags of groceries in the other, and I gently push Bram off my stomach and roll over to rise to my feet. “I’ll get that for you.”

“Take Holly.” Esme thrusts the baby at me and heads towards the kitchen with the groceries.

I unbuckle Holly and lift her out. “Hi baby girl.”

Zeke climbs into the car seat, reaching for the brightly coloured octopus hooked onto the handle. This tips the whole thing and he falls, screaming as the hard plastic rim crushes his fingers underneath.

“Oh buddy, you’re okay…let Daddy kiss it better.” Juggling Holly I take Zeke’s red hand and kiss his dimpled little fingers, then make munching noises and mouth at them until he laughs. “There you go.”

I put the car seat into the playpen where the boys can’t get to it and leave them playing with their toys and carry Holly into the kitchen. Esme is putting the groceries into the fridge, frowning as she looks at the assortment of plates and Tupperware stuffed in there with leftovers on them. “We need to clean this out,” she tells me, pulling out a plate with a half eaten burger on it that’s growing a small halo of white fuzz. “Who saved this?”

“Mac wanted it for breakfast – I guess he forgot about it,” I shrug. “Did you get more formula?”

“Yes, I’ve put another two cans in the pantry.” Esme tosses the burger into the trashcan and adds the plate to the dishwasher. “Holly had her last bottle at eleven last night and slept through until four this morning, which was wonderful. How were things here? Did you sleep? You’ll have to have her tonight, Carlisle and I have a hospital benefit dinner to attend.”

“That’s cool. We’ll manage, won’t we jellybean?” I smile at Holly, who looks at me thoughtfully. “None of the big kids were up at all last night, so I slept fine.”

_At least I slept fine after I drank most of a six pack and bawled my eyes out watching videos of Rosalie on my phone._

My eyes skip past Esme to where I left the bottles on the counter, instead of shoving them out of sight in the recycling bin like I normally do. It’s not that I think I’m _really_ overdoing it or anything, but I know Esme and Carlisle don’t like it. And deep down I know that drinking the way I am when I’m the only adult at home with the kids is fucked up, and something Rosalie would be furious at me for.

Esme sees what I’m looking at and a shadow passes across her face, but she doesn’t say anything about it then. Instead she stacks the abandoned cereal bowls from the table into the dishwasher and starts it running, and then takes Holly from my arms. The baby’s face lights up in a smile as she looks at her grandmother, and I bite back my own feelings of inadequacy. She doesn’t smile at me yet.

“You need to go and have a shower and change your clothes,” Esme says bluntly. “And when was the last time you shaved?”

I glance down at my stretched out sweatpants and stained t-shirt, and self-consciously scratch the rather-more-than-stubble that’s covering half my face. “Maybe I’m growing a beard?”

“You look like a pirate,” Esme says crisply. “Which, if that’s what you want…fine. But you can be a clean pirate with a shampooed beard and fresh clothes. I’m not over here every day doing your family’s laundry for you to wear the same sweatpants for five days in a row.”

“It hasn’t been…okay, fine, I’ll go and have a shower.”

I slink off to the bathroom to shower, and once everything’s been soaped and scrubbed I take the time to shave too. I know Esme’s not judging harshly, but I’m embarrassed to be caught out with the booze and the grunginess of wearing the same clothes for days on end. Looking at myself once I’m done, I grimace. I’m drinking, sleeping and crying way too much, and not eating enough, and I look like shit. But freshly washed and shaved and wearing clean clothes for the first time in days, I at least look like the kind of shit that’s made an effort.

“Much better,” Esme says in heartfelt tones when I come back to the living room. “Now I can give you a hug.” She squeezes me tightly and kisses my cheek. “I really don’t want to give you a hard time, but you have to look after yourself. All those things you make the kids do – shower, clean their teeth, eat proper meals and try and keep a regular sleep routine – you need to make yourself do those things too.”

“I know, I know.”

I can see the worry in Esme’s face, but she smiles at me brightly and hands me a couple of bills. “Now, here’s twenty dollars. You’re taking Bram and Zeke to the drop-in baby gym class this morning.”

“I am?” I say doubtfully.

Esme nods firmly. “You are. This house needs a deep clean and I can’t do it with you and three babies getting in the way. The twins will love playing in the gym, and it will be good for you to get out for a while.”

“What about Holly?”

“She can go with you. I gave her a bottle right before we came over here so she should be happy enough in the stroller or the car seat at the gym. After the class you can go next door to the café and buy them some lunch, and by the time that’s done I should have at least made a good start on what I want to do here.” Esme’s eyes flick around the messy living room. “Now I’ve just changed the boys’ diapers and packed a bag with spares and a bottle for Holly, so you’re all ready to get going.”

I don’t really want to go to the drop-in baby gym class. The idea of doing something so normal, of being somewhere where people don’t know what I’m dealing with, feels beyond intimidating. But I can’t say no to Esme, not when she’s trying so hard to take care of us, so I put my sneakers on and load all the babies into the car and head out.

Even just getting from the car into the gym is difficult with three babies. I have to strap Bram and Zeke into the double stroller, stuff the massive diaper bag into the basket and then juggle Holly in her bucket car seat as I push it through the parking lot. I wouldn’t even be able to get inside if a woman with a toddler skipping beside her didn’t hold the door open for us.

I pay the fee and go into the smaller gym where they hold the baby class. I used to come here all the time when Mac and Noah were toddlers, and it’s just like I remember. They have a little circuit set up with baby-suitable equipment, mats and foam wedges and balls and beanbags, see-saws and rocking boards and saucers, mini trampolines and a balance beam on the floor, but the kids are babies two years old or less, so they’re not exactly good at following directions. There’s no real order as the kids all crawl or toddle or run around in all directions, doing whatever takes their fancy.

“Emmett! I heard what happened and I’m so sorry.” Jules, the same instructor who used to do this when Mac and Noah were little, comes over to me. She’s got that face on, the pitying one with an underlying morbid curiosity about how we’re feeling and coping and managing…a look I loathe, but one that is becoming depressingly familiar to me.

“Thanks.” I mumble. I set the brakes on the stroller and put Holly’s seat on the floor beside it, kneeling down to unbuckle the twins.

Jules takes the hint that it’s not a subject I want to talk about and kneels down beside me, smiling engagingly at the twins. “Who have we got here? Wow, I’m not going to be able to tell you two apart, am I?” She looks at me and grins. “Don’t they just look like Mac though? How’re he and Noah doing?”

“They’re good,” I say. “Started kindergarten this year. This one’s Bram and that one’s Zeke. And Holly, but she’s just going to watch today.”

Jules laughs. “Yeah, it might be a while before she’s ready to follow in her big sister’s footsteps. I’ve seen Daisy working out with the junior elites, and she’s doing amazing! But you two cuties are going to have a great time today!” She peels off Zeke’s socks and tickles his toes. “How old are they?”

“Nearly twelve months. Not quite walking, but really close.”

Jules waits until Zeke smiles at her and then reaches for his straps. “How about I get you out so you can go play? You know how it works Emmett. No socks, no pacifiers, no food, keep water bottles over by your stroller or bags. They can play with whatever they want and it’s up to you to supervise although of course Amanda and I are here to help – we’ll give you an extra hand today because you’ve got two of them.” She puts Zeke on the floor and he immediately crawls off towards the area with the balls. 

I slip Bram’s socks off and pull him out of the stroller. He’s less confident and doesn’t want to leave me, so I make sure Holly is comfortable and position her car seat where I can keep an eye on her, and then take him over to his brother.

The little twins have a great time. They play with the balls for a while, throwing them around and drooling on them, and then go crawling around exploring. They spend a long time rolling and sliding down a big triangular foam wedge, cruising along the mats and babbling at themselves and licking their reflections in the mirrors along one wall. This makes me laugh, and I wonder why it is they enjoy mirrors so much when they spend twenty-four hours a day with a living mirror in each other.

I check on Holly periodically, relieved when she sleeps soundly through most of it. Not for the first time I acknowledge how lucky I am that she’s such an easy baby. I have no idea how I would be coping if she was a crier like newborn Daisy had been, or if she’d been twins and twice the work, and I know enough to recognise Holly’s placid, even-tempered nature is a blessing.

I’m thinking about getting our stuff together and leaving when I hear her wail. I head over to where I left her, finding a toddler girl who looks at me with a guilty expression as she whips a pacifier out of her mouth and starts trying to shove it in Holly’s.

“Baby’s binky,” she tells me. “Not my binky. I not take it.”

I laugh gently. “Can I have that?”

“Tess!” A man, I guess her dad, swoops in and yanks it out of her hand. “Kiddo, you can’t go round stealing binkies!” He hands it over to me. “Sorry for my klepto daughter. I don’t think she has any communicable diseases right now, but that baby looks new…you might not want to risk putting that back in her mouth.”

I laugh and toss it in the bottom of the stroller. “No worries. There’s probably a spare.” I dig in the diaper bag until I find another pacifier, and hold it in Holly’s mouth until she stops crying.

“Baby happy now,” Tess says to me, reaching in and patting Holly’s hair.

“Tess, come on.” Her dad pulls her hand away. “Leave the baby.”

“It’s okay,” I say, rocking the car seat a little. “She’s the youngest; she’s pretty used to being poked and prodded.”

The guy grins. “Hey…you’re Emmett right? You did my last tattoo.” He pushes up his sleeve to show me a koi fish. “I still love it. I’m Paul, this is Tess. Which one is yours?”

“The two over there, playing in the crawl-through cube…in the blue and the green t-shirts.” I point out Bram and Zeke.

“Wow, twins and this little baby – you’ve got your hands full. Bet the missus is happy to have you take them all out for the morning!”

The breezy assumption that there is a ‘missus’ at home, a mom happy to have a break from her newborn and bigger twins while I just take them out for baby gym… _oh damn, I wish that was true!_

I don’t know what to say. He’s just some dude trying to make casual conversation, he doesn’t want my miserable life story. “Yeah,” I say at last. “It’s busy.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way though, would you?” Paul says lightly, picking Tess up and hanging her upside down to make her laugh.

Before I have to come up with anything else though, Bram and Zeke both try and crawl through the same hole and bang their heads together and I make my escape. I hug and soothe, and then put socks back on and strap the babies back into the stroller. We’ll go and buy some lunch, and then go home…to a house where there isn’t going to be a wife relaxed after a morning break from her babies.

_You wouldn’t have it any other way though, would you?_


	17. Doing it Alone

Bram and Zeke eat grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch at the café and fall asleep in the car on the way home. I carry them in one by one and put them in their bed, then go back to the car for a hungry Holly who is, by then, screaming. Three babies under a year…it’s going to make a big difference when two of them learn to walk.

Esme calls out to me from the kitchen. “Is she hungry? I’ll heat up a bottle for you.”

I change Holly’s diaper and then slump onto the sofa, taking the bottle Esme brings in to me. “Thanks.”

Esme brings in a cup of tea and then settles into the sofa next to me with a sigh. “How did it go?”

“The boys had a great time,” I say, adding a little gruffly. “It was a good idea; you were right to shove me out.”

Esme smiles and pats my thigh. “I thought it would do you all good. I remember how much Noah and Mac always enjoyed baby gym.”

“The house looks great too,” I say, looking around and noticing how clean and tidy everything is. “You’ve been busy.”

“I did a big clean in here and in the kitchen and the kids’ bathroom,” Esme tells me. “I changed the sheets on all the kids’ beds too. I haven’t got to your room or bathroom though, so this afternoon…”

“You don’t have to do it,” I mumble. “And I’m sorry, I know I’m not doing everything that I need to, I just…”

“You don’t need to apologise. I know how difficult it is, and you’re doing a wonderful job.” Esme hesitates. “But Emmett…I do think we’re going to have to start thinking about the future, and making some plans. The way things are right now isn’t really sustainable in the long term. Holly is getting bigger and needs more stability than being passed around between houses with no routine anywhere.”

I swallow hard, staring down at Holly as she drinks her milk. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m not saying you have to do everything all by yourself,” Esme says gently. “Everyone is more than willing to help you. But we do need to make some decisions. Have you thought about going back to work?”

_I think about what I’m going to do every day. But every day…I can’t bring myself to make plans, because that means I have to admit that she’s really gone. Sometimes it feels like it takes everything I have just to stand up and keep breathing._

“I have to go back to work,” I say at last. “I want to go back anyway, I miss it, but we’re also going to need the money. I mean I’m all right for now, since Jack sorted all the financial shit out. The life insurance is enough to pay Alice what I still owe her for her half of the house and leave a chunk afterwards, and I’m getting social security survivor benefits for the kids and regular payments from Rosalie’s retirement accounts, so no one’s going to go hungry. But I’ve got six kids and the oldest is only eight…that’s a hell of a lot of years of school fees and gymnastics lessons and dental work that I’m going to have to pay for.” I bite my knuckles. “I can make okay money tattooing, but childcare has always been the issue.”

Esme nods. “Okay, so we have to work out the best childcare arrangements to facilitate you working, in terms of affordability and convenience. I think we need to look at how we’re going to manage the housework and laundry here too – perhaps make up a regular chore routine, and look into a cleaning service.” She pulls out her phone and taps a few notes in to it, and then looks over at me and smiles lovingly. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. I love you and the kids, and I love looking after you all. I’m not going to abandon you. But I’m getting older, and full time care and housework for your household as well as mine is getting to be a little much. I’m just looking for a way to make everyone’s lives easier.”

I lift Holly up against my shoulder, rubbing her back until I hear her little milky belch in my ear. Once the gas is out she sighs and relaxes, going limp as she drifts off to sleep.

“And I’m sorry if this feels a little bit like I’m laying it all on you today, but you need to think about the little twins’ birthday,” Esme says apologetically. “I’ve let it slide before because I know you didn’t want to think about a celebration right now, but it’s their first birthday and we have to do _something_. Maybe just a cake and some presents at our house? I’m happy to do some shopping if you give me the go ahead. But there’s also Christmas coming up…have you thought about that at all?”

I turn and kiss the side of Holly’s head so that Esme won’t see my face. “There are gifts for Bram and Zeke’s birthday in the top shelf of my closet. Rosalie bought them…before. She wanted to be organised, so she didn’t have to worry about their birthday in the first few weeks with the new baby. There are some Christmas gifts that she bought too, hidden in the basement, but I don’t know what’s there or what she still meant to buy…” My voice cracks.

Esme hugs me, wrapping both me and Holly into her motherly embrace. “Milestones like birthdays and special occasions like Christmas are always going to be hard,” she says softly. “We just have to try our best to get through it. I’ll call in at the bakery tonight and order a cake for each of them, and we can have a little family get-together on the weekend. Why don’t you put Holly in her bassinet and we’ll go and look for the presents and see what you’ve got? We can get Daisy and Mac and Noah to write Christmas lists after school to give us some more ideas about what else to buy.”

Holly stays asleep as I carry her into my room and lay her in her bassinet. Esme follows me, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes that I have heaped up by the door.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “They’re clean, I just haven’t been putting them away…I don’t really like going into the closet that much, with all Rosalie’s things there…” My voice fades away and I feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

Esme pats my arm. “If you want me to clean out the closet, you only need to ask. Even if we just move it into storage for a little while.”

I just shake my head, and before I can say anything else my phone rings. I grab for it, but I’m not quick enough to avoid waking Holly who cries in protest. I leave Esme resettling her with her pacifier and head into the living room to take the call.

“Emmett? This is Leo Hyland, from Camden Junior. I’m calling about McCarty.”

The principal. My stomach falls. “Mac? Is he okay? Did he hurt himself?”

“Don’t worry, he’s okay. But he’s had a bit of a rough afternoon, and I was wondering if you could come down to the school and have a chat?”

“Sure. I’ll just sort out the babies and be right over.” I hang up and go back to my room, where Esme has picked up Holly and is rocking her back to sleep. “That was the school,” I tell her, biting my knuckles. “Something with Mac…he’s not hurt, but the principal wants to talk to me. Are you okay to stay here with the little ones?”

Esme nods. “Of course. Go and see what you can do for Mac.”

Visits to the principal’s office were definitely not an unfamiliar event when I was a kid at school, but I haven’t been called in as a parent before. Even so I feel the same sense of impending doom as I always did as I walk up to the front office of Camden Junior School.

“I’m Emmett Cullen,” I tell the person on reception. “I had a call about my kid, Mac…”

“Emmett, hi.” An older man, wearing jeans and a casual sweater, comes out of an office and shakes my hand vigorously. “I don’t think we’ve ever met properly. I’m Leo Hyland. Call me Leo. Thanks a lot for coming down.”

I return his handshake. “Yeah, hi. Is Mac okay?”

“He’s all right. Having a bit of time out in the yurt right now…come into my office for a minute so we can talk.”

 _Yurt?_ I follow him into his office and take a seat, while he sits across the desk from me.

“I want to say sorry again,” Leo begins. “I met Rosalie a number of times, and it’s a terrible loss. We understand what a tough time this is for your kids, and we’ve been keeping a special eye on them here at school. Laurie Ramirez in the third grade tells me Daisy is thriving; she talks about her mom a lot and she can get a bit tearful and upset, but her schoolwork has been good and she has a solid little group of friends behind her. In the kindergarten Ben Cohen has some concerns about Noah’s anxiety, but he’s coping okay and he seems like a really bright kid. Mac though…Vivi Allen says he’s struggling.” Leo hesitates. “Academically, there are some issues. You’ve probably realised that.”

Rosalie and I used to joke that with the big twins we got one each. I got Mac, with his curly dark hair and solid McCarty shoulders, his impulsive nature and penchant for trouble. Rosalie got Noah, with his chiselled cheekbones and fair hair, his single-minded determination and perfectionism. We’d laughed about it when they were younger. It had been less funny when they started school and we realised that it went deeper than that, with Noah practically reading by the end of the first week while Mac was writing his letters backwards and scowling blankly over his sight words. Now, hearing that he’s only six months into kindergarten and already falling behind turns my stomach. I spent from kindergarten to twelfth grade struggling to learn, failing more often than not, and hating school. I never wanted that for my kids.

“We do his reading and his homework sheets every night,” I mutter. “My mom and dad are helping out a lot and someone goes through it with him. But I know he’s not catching on like Noah is.”

“That’s okay. His teacher has been aware of this for a while, and we’re not ignoring that Mac might need some extra help. But his emotional state and his behaviour are the bigger concern right now.” Leo sighs. “We’ve been talking about calling you in for a conference but thought we’d give it until after Christmas break. We hoped it would give Mac more opportunity to settle down, and we’re aware that the holiday season is going to be hard for all of you – we thought you didn’t need something else to worry about. But Mac got into a fight at lunchtime today, and we can’t really let that go.”

I shove my hands under my thighs so I won’t start biting on my knuckles. I hate what losing their mother has done to my big boys. I hate the changes that I’ve seen in the past few weeks; Noah growing ever more anxious and clingy, Mac increasingly sullen and moody. “So, what happened? You said Mac’s okay – is the other kid all right?”

“Yes, it didn’t get too far,” Leo says. “They were playing outside, got into an argument and Mac went for him. A teacher was nearby and broke it up, the other student went to the nurse’s office for an ice pack and then went back to class, and I was called to deal with Mac. He was pretty distraught.”

“I’m sorry. He knows better than to fight.” I shrug helplessly. “It’s not really like him, but ever since… he hasn’t been himself.”

“Vivi says the same thing. She was really happy with the way Mac settled into school when he started kindergarten; he has a lot of energy, but he was happy and enthusiastic and always tried his best. However, his classroom behaviour has deteriorated a lot – he’s angry and defiant and uncooperative and there have been a number of outbursts. Today’s was the worst. This is all understandable and we’re not looking to punish him at all, but I think we need to do something to get him back on track,” Leo says.

“We’re trying,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too defensive. “I don’t know…my dad organised a couple of sessions with a grief counsellor for the kids , Mac didn’t really take to it but I can try and make that ongoing if you think it would help…”

“I think some counselling would be good,” he says. “You’ve met our school counsellor Liz Chapman, haven’t you? She’s very good, very experienced. Mac’s in her office right now. If you agree, I’ll talk to her this afternoon about her seeing Mac on a regular basis for a little while here at school. Then you won’t have to organise appointments, or pay any extra costs. We can see how that goes before we jump into behaviour contracts and that kind of thing with him, what do you think?”

He waits until I nod before he continues. “I think you should take him home today. It’s not a punishment, but he was very overwrought and letting him take the afternoon to reset and come back to school fresh tomorrow is probably best. He’ll be on restrictions at lunchtime for the rest of the week –this is not so much a punishment, but something we use as a bit of a diversion for kids who might be having a tough time in various ways. We get the kids to help a teacher with a project of some kind, something to keep them occupied and out of trouble…does Mac like nature? We can put him in the science room helping take care of the animals there, or maybe outside on garden detail. Or art? Vivi says he’s great at drawing, there might be something we can do with him in the art room…I’ll ask him and see what he says. Kids usually respond better to choices. Again, I want to really emphasise that none of this is about punishing Mac, and we need to make sure he understands that too. No one’s angry. He’s a great little kid who’s going through something that any adult would find difficult, and we all just want to help him get through it.”

“Thanks,” I say hoarsely. “He’s really a good kid…I mean, he can’t sit still and if there’s trouble within a mile radius he’s going to find it, but…he’s a good kid.”

Leo laughs. “He is. He just needs a little extra attention and support right now, and that’s fine. And for you too Emmett, please think of the school as a resource that you can call on if you need it. Camden is a community as much as a school…the very fact that you and Rosalie were students here yourselves and are now sending your kids here says a lot. But if there’s anything we can do – our counsellor will be more than happy to see Daisy and Noah too, and we’ve got before and after school care programs that you can access if you need childcare. I realise that you’ve also just become a single income family too, and we do have fee relief and assistance programs available if that’s an issue. I’ll make sure the application forms go out with your next semester’s invoice.”

“Thanks,” I say again. “I appreciate it. We’re still kind of figuring everything out.”

“It’s a big adjustment,” Leo agrees. “Let’s go down to Liz’s office and see how Mac’s doing now.”

The school counsellor’s office is spacious, or would be if a third of it wasn’t taken up with a round tent. Apparently when the principal said Mac was having time out in a yurt he meant it literally.

“Kids love the yurt,” he tells me cheerfully. “Nice, quiet space for them to calm down in.”

The entrance flap is drawn back and I stoop down a little to peer inside. It’s lit by a string of fairy lights and is full of soft cushions and kid-sized beanbags, as well as a basket of books and small sensory toys. It looks so inviting and relaxing I wouldn’t mind having some time out in there myself. 

Mac’s scrunched into a beanbag, his thumb in his mouth and his other hand playing with a Slinky, the counsellor sitting cross-legged beside him. As soon as he sees me he drops the Slinky and scrambles across the tent, flinging himself at me. “Daddy!”

I wrap my arms around him, so tight that I have to force myself to ease up before I hurt him. “It’s okay buddy.”

“I’m sorry!” Mac’s shoulders are heaving with sobs, and I can’t understand another word he says.

My eyes sting with tears. God, I love my scrappy little boy, and _fuck_ but I wish Rosalie was here to help me with him!

“It’s all right Mac, it’s all right…I love you. It’s all right.”

Liz Chapman smiles at me sympathetically. “Hi Emmett. Mac and I have just been having a little chat and getting to know each other, haven’t we Mac? He’s having a hard day.”

“I hit someone,” Mac sniffles. “I punched him as hard as I could.”

“Yeah, I know.” I pat his back. “Mr Hyland told me about it. You know that wasn’t the right thing to do.”

Mac nods dolefully. “Are you mad?”

“No one’s mad at you,” Leo jumps in. “We know that you’ve been feeling pretty angry and pretty sad lately, and we want to help you feel better so that you don’t _want_ to punch people. Your dad and I thought maybe you’d like to go home early today, and now that you and Ms Chapman have met each other you might like to be one of her friends. You could come in here sometimes and have a break from school and talk to her about anything you want.”

Mac’s face contorts with misery. “I miss my mom.”

_Sweet fucking hell kiddo, I miss your mom too._

“It’s really hard to lose your mommy,” Liz says gently. “I’d like it if you came and visited me here in my office sometimes, and maybe we could talk about that.”

“I think that’s a good idea Mac, yeah?” I run a hand through Mac’s curls. He looks tear-stained and exhausted, and once again I feel the enormity of being the one holding his fragile little heart.


	18. Ordinary Magic

Mac is quiet on the drive home, staring out the window and sucking his thumb. When we get home he unbuckles his seat belt and slides out of his booster seat, waiting until I open the door for him and then reaching his arms out for me.

“You’re really not mad at me?” Mac hangs tightly around my neck as I lift him into my arms.

“No, I’m really not.” I pick up his backpack and then slam the sliding door and head towards the house.

“Mommy would have been mad at me.” Mac looks despondent. “If I got in trouble for fighting at school Mommy would have been _super_ mad.”

I half laugh and half sob. He’s not exactly wrong – Rosalie understood kids and wasn’t a despotic martinet by any stretch of the imagination, but she had high expectations for our kids’ behaviour. Fighting in school would absolutely not be tolerated. At the same time…

“I think Mommy would understand about it this time,” I say softly, giving him a squeeze. “Mind you don’t do it again though!”

Mac leans his head against mine. “I want to punch everyone in the whole world,” he mutters.

I don’t answer, mostly because I understand his feelings all too well. The way the rage boils up inside, breaking through the heavy darkness of grief, almost blinding me with the desire to hit out at the world is a distressingly familiar emotional state to me right now.

When we get inside the babies are all still asleep and, as she jerks upright on the sofa blinking and covering up her yawns, I think Esme might have been napping too.

“Take your backpack to your room,” I tell Mac, handing it to him. I wait until his feet are clumping up the stairs before I say quickly to Esme, “He punched some kid. Leo Hyland told me to bring him home today, but he’s not suspended or anything. Mostly, they’re worried…his schoolwork isn’t good and his behaviour is worse…they want him to see the school counsellor for a bit and…” I break off as Mac comes back into the room. “We can talk about it later. Hey kiddo.”

He crawls up on the sofa beside Esme, who wraps her arms around him. She strokes his curly hair and he yawns widely, his thumb going back to his mouth. Heartsick with worry over what I’m going to do with him, I go into my room and flop down on the bed. I don’t even bother to take off my shoes, but pull the comforter over my head to block out the world and close my eyes. _Rosa-girl…I wish you were here for this. I miss you so much. I love you._ I’m asleep in minutes.

I wake when Holly does, her wails from the bassinet dragging me reluctantly back to reality. I pick her up and change her diaper, which makes her scream more, and then carry her out to the kitchen to find a bottle.

“We’re writing letters to Santa!” Noah exclaims. He’s sitting at the table with Daisy, Mac and Esme, paper and markers spread in between them, and looks happier and more animated than I’ve seen him for a while.

“That’s great! Hang on and let me get some milk for Holly and then you can show me.” I step carefully over Bram and Zeke, who are who are happily emptying the plastic utensils out of the bottom drawer, and quickly make up a bottle for Holly. Once it’s ready I sit down at the table to feed her.

“What did you write in your letter?” I ask, in the sudden silence that falls when Holly’s screaming mouth is plugged up with a bottle.

“I wrote, _Dear Santa, I have been very good and I hope I am on the nice list. Please can I have a trampoline, an electric guitar, some new markers and a new sketchbook, a big Lego set and a small Lego set, and an alarm clock, love from Noah,_ ” he reads out. “And I’m drawing a picture of me on a new trampoline. See? That’s the trampoline and here’s me jumping really high. Do you think that’s good?”

“I think it’s great,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t know you wanted an electric guitar…and an alarm clock?”

“On with a bell on top, like in cartoons,” Noah tells me seriously. “Grandma tells me they’re really a thing you can get. Then I can set an alarm to wake me up to practise my new guitar so I can be in a band.”

“Okay…good to know you’ve got a plan.” I look over at the other kids. “What about you guys?”

“I asked for a dirt bike,” Mac says. “Grandma wrote my letter for me and I said to write it in big letters because it’s what I really, really want…do you think Mommy can talk to Santa? Because I told her about how much I wanted the dirt bike ages ago, and maybe if she could say…”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling the familiar ache in my chest. “Maybe. But even if she can, I don’t know if Santa brings dirt bikes. Especially when you’re only six.”

I don’t want to crush his dreams, but the idea of Mac on a dirt bike? Yeah, I don’t think so…He’s probably got two hundred and fifty bones in his body that could break. I’ve already lost my wife; I’d like to keep my kids.

“Six is old enough for a dirt bike! I could totally ride one!” Mac says confidently, his tongue poking out in concentration as he draws what is actually a pretty accurate representation of what he images he’d look like riding a dirt bike like a ninja.

“And Santa can bring anything!” Daisy interjects. “He’s magic.”

I smile. Daisy’s eight years old now and I wasn’t sure if she would still believe this year. But looking at her, I can see how desperately she wants the magic to be real. After what she’s been through in the past two months, the harsh and unforgiving reality of a world where bad things happen and no one can stop them, is it any wonder that she’s clinging to the idea of a jolly fat man in a red suit who can deliver anything you want?

“We’ll see…what did you write?”

“Oh, I wrote it like a real letter, so I asked how Santa and Mrs Claus and the reindeer are to be polite. Then I wrote a list- I asked for a trampoline, a team USA jacket to wear to gymnastics, some Harry Potter stuff, some books, an ipad of my own so I don’t have to share anymore, a phone of my own, rainbow legwarmers, a unicorn onesie, some hair things, new clothes, glitter gel pens, markers and more thread and beads for friendship bracelets. Since all the babies can’t really say what they want I also asked for a trampoline for them – Holly is really too little but I bet the Things would like it – and new cars and big Lego for Bram and Zeke and a new pacifier and stuffed toy for Holly.” She shows me her letter, which is obviously written in her best handwriting and has an elaborate border and a half completed picture of Santa’s reindeer and sleigh.

“That looks great, you guys all did a good job.” I give Esme a lopsided smile. “Thanks.”

“I can’t wait for Christmas,” Daisy says fervently. “Are we going skiing with Grammy and Grandpa Jack?”

“Not this year.” We’d made plans to spend Christmas in Whistler with Rosalie’s parents ages ago, but now the thought of going without her is unbearable. I don’t know that being here at home is going to be any easier, but at least I won’t have to drag six children through two airports, a plane ride, and mounds of snow to do it. “Grandpa Jack said he might try to take you skiing somewhere else over the winter break, if you want to go.”

“Yes please!” Daisy draws a bright red nose on her lead reindeer. “We have to get our decorations out and put up our tree. Can we do it today? It will make our house so pretty and happy again…”

She cuts off her words, but I heard her and I know what she’s saying. This grief, this sadness that’s pulling me down like quicksand – it’s drowning the kids too and they need something to hold on to. Christmas, the season of love and giving and hope…oh, it’s enough to break my heart, but maybe it’s exactly what my kids need and I make a promise to myself that I will do everything in my power to give it to them. I hold Holly and her bottle in one hand and reach over to touch Daisy’s fair hair.

“I’ll go down to the basement and look for the tree and the decorations later,” I say to her with a smile. “It’s December…we should have already done it! We’ll make this Christmas good, I promise.”

As good as it can be, anyway. Where do I buy a trampoline?

“You should do a letter too,” Noah says, pushing a spare piece of paper my way. “What do you want Santa to bring for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, picking up a marker in my free hand and beginning to doodle. “I haven’t thought about what I want yet.”

Because the truth is, I can’t think let myself think about what I want. I can’t bear to open that door, because there is only one thing in the world that I want and there is no amount of Christmas magic that’s going to give it to me. I stare down at the paper, where I’ve written it down in swooping letters that flow over the page like water. The same word I’ve written a million times, in a million different fonts, just to see it in front of my eyes.

_Rosalie._

______________________________________________

Esme leaves for her dinner out with Carlisle late in the afternoon, and I put the kids all through the tub or shower and then heat up a donated casserole from the freezer. I can’t even tell what the frozen lump is, but someone’s scrawled cooking instructions on the plastic wrap so I bung it in the oven and hope for the best while I head downstairs.

I always hated our basement. It’s where the worst abuses in my childhood took place, and even though Rosalie and I finished the floors and redid the drywall I still couldn’t walk down the stairs without an instinctive feeling of tension tightening in my gut. Funny thing is though, since Rosalie died, I don’t feel it at all. Now when I go down to the basement all I think of is her – down here doing laundry, organising boxes and totes of hand-me-down clothes and toys we were keeping for the younger ones, running on her treadmill or working out on her home gym, catching a quick break from the kids in the comfy armchair she dragged down here after spilling a glass of wine on it. She saw the pain of memory for me in coming down here and tried to save me from it, and in that way she made the basement hers and now that she’s gone it’s just one more place in the house that howls out her absence.

I don’t have time for maudlin contemplation though. I find the bags and boxes of Christmas decorations and carry everything upstairs, much to Daisy’s delight. She puts on a Christmas music playlist and starts pulling out the tree ornaments and bossing the boys around to hang up stockings, while I hook the fibre optic tree together.

Daisy, Mac, Noah and I decorate the tree, flinging tinsel happily around and rediscovering all the handmade ornaments they’ve created in previous years. I lift them up so they can reach the higher branches and, at Daisy’s insistence, I ‘help’ Holly put the star on the top branch because it’s her first Christmas. We turn the lights on and the tree glitters and sparkles, and the kids all clap their hands with glee and excitement.

It lasts about three minutes before Bram and Zeke strip bare every single branch that they can reach, Bram starts choking on a dangling fairy ornament and then, while I’m clearing out his windpipe, Zeke gets tangled up in a string of tinsel and pulls the whole damn tree over. Ornaments go flying, the big kids all start screaming, Zeke is buried under the six foot Christmas tree howling like a banshee, and as I yank the stupid fairy ornament out of Bram’s mouth the loop of ribbon pulls out of his throat and he pukes all down my arm.

“Oh FUCK!” I yell.

Daisy, Mac and Noah all stop screaming and stare at me, mouths agape.

“Okay, Daddy shouldn’t have said that but…SHIT!” I jerk the tree off Zeke and grab up one of Holly’s blankets to wipe up the vomit before someone walks in it. “We don’t say those words! Not even when trees fall down on poor babies’ heads!” I bundle the puke into the blanket and shove it aside, picking up Zeke and kissing his forehead as I unwrap the tinsel from around his arms and pluck a macaroni encrusted love heart ornament out of his hair.

Daisy giggles, and gives Bram a hug. “Don’t cry! And don’t eat any more decorations!”

Zeke stops crying fairly quickly, more shocked than hurt by the tree falling on his head, and I plop him onto the ground by his brother. “I think we might have to put the tree up inside the playpen so that Bram and Zeke can’t get to it,” I say, surveying the mess.

This is easier said than done, as it involves moving everything that’s already in the playpen out of it, including Holly in her swing, and then lifting the tree up and into it. Then we have to crawl around the floor finding all the baubles that have fallen off and rehang everything, which mostly means I have to rehang everything because the kids’ enthusiasm for the task doesn’t mean they can reach any higher than four feet at best. I don’t know that the result would really match Rosalie’s aesthetic standards, but the kids are happy with it and that’s all I care about.

To calm them down we sit and read one of the Christmas books Rosalie keeps with the decorations and brings out each year. Fun, happy stories where nobody dies and Santa delivers dreams and magic happens. Then I make sure five sets of teeth get brushed (with a brief moment of relief that Holly currently has no teeth) and pack the older kids off to bed.

I come downstairs after kissing Daisy, Mac and Noah goodnight and pause for a moment looking into the living room. The tree lights are on and Holly is in her swing, gazing at it raptly. Bram and Zeke are hanging onto the playpen, reaching out for the ornaments on the lower branches and babbling to each other. Hearing my footsteps they both look over with matching grins, lights reflecting in colours on their faces.

“Dada!” Zeke crows.

“Dada!” Bram echoes. And then, like he’s done it a million times before, he lets go of the playpen and walks across the room. His first steps, toddling across the living room to land laughing in my arms. “Dada!”

“Oh, look at you!” I fall backwards to the floor, hugging him tightly. “Who’s a big walking boy now?” I’m laughing, and he laughs back and gives me sloppy kisses as Zeke, evidently not wanting to be left behind, follows his brother’s example of a moment before and staggers wide-legged and lurching across to join us. “Both of you! Damn, aren’t we in trouble now that you’re both on the move!”

But my laughter turns to tears, because this is a huge milestone in my babies’ lives and I’m celebrating it alone. There is no Rosalie to share it with, no proud mama to grab the camera and coax them into doing it again, no one who will feel the happiness and pride of the moment in quite the same way as I do. All I have is a stocking hanging up that’s going to remain empty on Christmas morning, and mistletoe by the door with no beloved wife to kiss below it.

The tears run down my face, but I smile anyway and kiss dimpled cheeks and tickle pudgy little bellies, because this is _my_ magic. Not Santa. These babies, that I first saw through a microscope when they were still a single, eight-celled embryo, who are now two individuals who are growing and walking and thriving despite everything…this is my magic. It’s simple and ordinary and happens every day, but this is what I have and what will bring me through.


	19. Plans and Preparations

“You need to _fold_ the corners in,” Esme directs me. “You’ll get a neater finish…don’t just scrunch the wrapping paper at the ends.”

“The scotch tape sticks it all together,” I say defensively. “And the kids are going to rip it all off in about thirty seconds anyway.”

I tape down the final crumpled corner and slap on one of the sticky labels I filled in with the kids’ names earlier, using the most elf-like handwriting font I could create. I then place the wrapped package into the big cardboard box on the floor and reach for the next thing to wrap, a Lego set. “Whose is this? The treehouse Lego?”

Esme consults her list. “That one is for Noah.” She finishes wrapping another gift and sticks on a _Holly_ label, then adds it to the box of wrapped packages and selects another thing to wrap.

I measure the paper and cut what I hope is a big enough piece to wrap the treehouse Lego set, trying not to think about how much I wish Rosalie was here to do this like she always has before. It’s just the way we did things – I was the one who cleaned the gutters and brushed the kids’ teeth, and Rosalie read the chapter books and did all the gift wrapping. But Christmas is coming ever closer, and with no Rosalie to do it the presents weren’t going to wrap themselves so Esme came over this morning and set about teaching me how to do it. Fortunately she’s also stayed to help by doing everything that’s awkwardly or oddly shaped, leaving me the supposedly easy boxes and books. ‘Supposedly’ easy…my skills here are somewhat lacking.

And for the hundredth time since Rosalie died I am feeling the biting loss of her absence, and my own painful inadequacy at doing everything she did. I’m a good dad and I know there are a lot of things I do well when it comes to the kids, but I’m not made to do this on my own. Wrapping presents, doing Daisy’s hair in the perfectly smooth, tightly pulled back bun she needs for gymnastics meets, remembering to sign homework diaries and take Holly for her well-baby visits…these are just some of the things that Rosalie took care of so easily, and that I’m now floundering to deal with on my own.

_I miss you so much, Rosa-girl._

“I heard back from the childcare centre over on Sycamore Street, but unfortunately they’ve only got one place available,” Esme says, deftly wrapping up some hairbows for Daisy. “They said they’ll take Holly, but would really prefer it if it were one of the twins since they’re older. They were the last place we were waiting to hear from, so we’re out of luck in finding a childcare that can take three babies.”

I frown. “Well, that sucks.” After making the decision to go back to work in the new year, I’ve been looking into my options for childcare which are as depressingly difficult as I had expected. “So what’s the best way to work it? Have one of them at the Sycamore Street place and then the other two…the childcare near the football field said they could take Bram and Zeke, didn’t they? We didn’t like them that much, but they were the only place that could take the two of them full-time. They couldn’t take Holly though, so if the twins go there Sycamore will have to take her. Then Mac and Noah will be covered by the after-hours care program at the school and Daisy can do that too, on days she doesn’t walk down to the gym.” I grimace at the thought of coordinating it all. “Hell, on gymnastics days I’m going to have to pick up kids at four different places…that’ll be fun.”

“It’s not ideal,” Esme agrees. “Sycamore Street said if you enrol one of them and put the other two on the wait list they’ll prioritise your application, but they can’t make any guarantees about how long it would take to get all three of them in there.”

I shrug, “What else can I do? Bram and Zeke are still four and a half years away from starting school, so even if it takes months for a place to open up I’m still going to need it. Until then…I guess I’ll just do a lot of driving around and begging you and Carlisle to help me.” I give Esme a weak smile.

“We can do that, but I also think you should take a second look at the option of private care,” Esme says. “I’ve given it a lot of thought since I realised we couldn’t get the three younger ones into the same day care at this point and I think it could be an ideal solution.”

“The nanny thing? It’s just so expensive,” I say. “I mean, at the moment my income is just kind of…theoretical. My inbox is full of emails from people wanting to talk about pieces, but I don’t have any actual appointments booked or anything. And I haven’t worked full time in years – I’ve got a good reputation as far as it goes, but it’s going to take time to build up my client base and get my name out there again as someone who’s worth the big money. My income is going to be pretty erratic for a while.”

“Carlisle and I have run the numbers, and with a little help I don’t think private care is completely out of reach,” Esme says. “What you’ll pay in day care fees for three infants, plus after school care for three elementary schoolers, comes quite close to what an in-home carer would cost and Carlisle and I, or even Jack and Lily, can help make up the shortfall.”

“You already do so much for us,” I mumble. “I don’t want to take your _money_ too.”

Esme smiles gently. “We want to do it. I think you’ll be happier if you’re working, and…I really want you to be happy Em.” Her voice wobbles for a moment, and she takes a deep breath. “Having the children taken care of here at home will make some things a lot easier. You won’t have to organise drop-offs and pick-ups at multiple places, start and finish times can be a little more flexible, and you also won’t be scrambling to arrange care at the last minute because one of the children has a cold. And believe me, the first year they’re in care they’re going to get sick! A nanny won’t do heavy housework – I was thinking we might look into a cleaning service – but they’ll make sure there are clean bottles and help out with the babies’ laundry. The twins have each other to play with, but a nanny can take them to library story time and baby gym for some extra socialisation as well…basically do all the things that _you_ would have done if you stayed home with them.”

“You think we’ll find someone who wants to look after three kids twelve months old and under by themselves?” I say a little doubtfully. “Plus the older kids after school…that’s six kids for one babysitter.”

Esme laughs. “You do it,” she points out, although she does go on to concede, “It is asking quite a lot, but we’ll pay well and hopefully find the right person.”

“How do I find someone like that?” I ask worriedly. 

“Word of mouth, employment agency, Craigslist…I’ll look into the best way to find someone,” Esme says briskly, selecting another roll of wrapping paper.

“But is it safe?” I venture. “I mean, they’re just babies. They can’t even talk to tell me if something is wrong. At least at a childcare centre there’s some oversight.”

I have always fought against letting my past define my present. I never wanted to let what happened to me as a child and teenager make me bitter or angry or abusive in turn, and I like to think that it hasn’t. But it left a mark, and trusting my children to anyone who isn’t my immediate family is something I have more trouble with than most people.

“We’ll look for someone qualified and experienced, and we’ll check references very carefully,” Esme says. “You know I would never risk the children’s safety. We’ll be very particular! I’ll try and arrange interviews with potential carers as soon as possible, so perhaps you’ll be able to start back at work after the winter break.”

“I’ll talk to Jonah about it. Go through my emails, see what people are looking for…” The idea of getting back to work, of drawing and creating once again, makes me suddenly feel lighter.

“Hello!” The front door bangs open. “We’re here!”

I leap to my feet and bolt into the hallway, whispering frantically, “No! Shhh! I swear to god, if you’ve woken those twins…aww, shit.” From behind the baby gate to my right I hear the disgruntled noises of two boys woken up too early.

“I’m sorry!” Alice says contritely.

“Ah, whatever.” I step forward and give her a hug. “It’s good to see you Monkey-face.”

“You too.” She squeezes me hard. “I’m sorry I woke them.”

“Hey,” I say to Jasper, who is coming up the front steps behind Alice, hauling a canvas kit bag and Alice’s enormous red suitcase. “How are you doing? You can just put all your junk in the spare room.”

I open the baby gate for Bram and Zeke, who seem bright eyed and cheerful despite their truncated nap as they come toddling out. Since they took their first steps a couple of weeks ago, just before their birthday, they haven’t looked back.

“Oh look, they’re on two feet like real people!” Alice says admiringly. “That’s so cute! Look at them Jas, they’re like tiny little drunks tottering along!”

“Tiny little drunks who are just about to destroy my afternoon’s gift-wrapping work,” I say, hastily sidling past them and going into the kitchen so I can lift the box of presents well out of their reach.

Esme is quickly adding name labels to the last two presents. “Perfect timing,” she says in satisfaction. “These are the last ones…hello sweetheart! It’s lovely to have you both home for Christmas.” She hugs Alice and Jasper.

“Ga-a!” Bram lurches in and clutches onto her leg.

“Oh my gosh, they’re even talking,” Alice says, shaking her head. “How many things can they say? How about _Alice_ boys? Can you say _Alice_? They just change so fast…I was only here last month! What about Holly? She’s probably crawling or something, getting ready for college, I don’t know…”

I laugh. “Not quite. But she’s a lot bigger than she was.” I lift the little twins into their high chairs and fill sippy cups with water. “They both say Dada, and that Ga-a word means Grandma or Grandpa depending on who they say it to, and of course they both say NO.” I give them their cups, and toss a handful of raisins onto each tray. “And Bram says MowMow, which is what he calls that stuffed cat they sleep with – I think he means Meow – and Zeke says Bam for Bram.”

Esme puts the scissors and scotch tape away in the junk drawer, and gathers up the what’s left of the rolls of wrapping paper. “You should go and hide this box of gifts away in the basement before the older ones get back from school.”

“Oh, are these Christmas presents for the kids?” Alice cranes her neck to look into the box. “They all still believe in Santa, right? I can just imagine how excited they all must be…it’s going to be so much fun to be here for Christmas!”

I grin at her. I don’t have the words to express how grateful I am that she and Jasper are going to be here to help me through this brutal first Christmas without Rosalie. Even as I feigned interest and excitement for the kids’ sakes, I had been dreading the upcoming holiday, and Alice’s cheerful announcement that she and Jasper would spend their Christmas break staying in my spare room had felt like a lifeline. I want so badly for it to be everything the kids are dreaming of, and I know that Alice’s boundless enthusiasm and Jasper’s quiet, solid strength are going to go a long way to keeping me going to do it for them.

“They’re getting a trampoline too,” I say. “I had it delivered to the shop though so they wouldn’t accidently discover it. Jonah’s going to bring it round Christmas Eve, after they’re all in bed.”

Jasper raises an eyebrow. “A trampoline? How long until Mac’s in the ER?”

“Oh, by the new year probably,” I snort. “I did get the springless kind with a net though, so hopefully the risk of damage is minimised. I’m just going to take all these down to the basement.” I carry the box of presents down to the basement and hoist it up onto the top of the storage shelf. It’s the box Daisy’s car seat came in and it’s lived in the basement hiding presents for the past eight years and none of the kids have looked in it yet.

Having Alice and Jasper around immediately makes the house feel more festive. They play with the twins and Alice gives Holly her bottle when she wakes up, and they’re there to greet Mac and Noah when they get off the bus, stuffed full of cupcakes from class parties and excited for the Christmas break.

Late in the afternoon I leave Alice playing with Bram and Zeke in the tub while Esme makes dinner, and I drive to the gym to collect Daisy with Jasper coming along for the ride.

“The kids seem like they’re doing okay?” he questions.

I shrug. “The babies are all doing fine. They don’t know anything really, so it’s pretty much just feeding, sleeping, and playing for them. Daisy’s doing okay. She gets sad, but she’s busy with gymnastics and school and she’s really close to Esme, which helps I think. She really loves taking care of Holly too. Mac and Noah…eh, it could be better. Mac’s in trouble at school and Noah’s so anxious he’s probably going to give himself an ulcer, so…” My voice fades.

“They’ll come round,” Jasper says. “They’re going to counselling, right?”

“Yeah, they both see the school counsellor and she seems really good. Mac’s hanging out with the principal a lot too, but that’s mostly about keeping him out of trouble – people are understanding, but there are only so many times he can punch kids before someone’s parent is going to kick up. Leo wants to avoid that.”

“At least the school is on his side.” Jasper grimaces and then glances at me sideways. “What about you?”

“I haven’t been punching anyone,” I joke. “I’m sometimes tempted by the asshole in a two-seater sports car who parks in the ‘mom and baby’ parking spot at the grocery store when I’m wrangling three babies, but so far I’ve restrained myself.”

Jasper laughs. “I don’t know how you get around with three of them.”

“I can’t go anywhere without the double stroller for the twins and the baby carrier for Holly,” I say with a sigh. “Once they’re steadier on their feet I might leash them. Like a dog walker, tie them to my belt, see how that goes.”

We’re a little early to the gym, and as we lean against the wall I point out where Daisy’s group is clustered on the floor mats to Jasper. She sees us and waves, frantically mouthing, “Watch me! Watch me!” as she bounces over to the corner of the mat to begin her routine.

I always like watching Daisy at gymnastics. She’s a tiny scrap of a thing, the smallest kid in her group, but the things she can do amazes me. She has always merged Alice’s enthusiasm with Rosalie’s determination, and her obvious joy in what she’s doing makes her magnetising.

Jasper leans forward to watch her, smiling. “She’s good, isn’t she?” he comments, as Daisy completes her first tumbling run.

“She really is.” Daisy looks over at us to check that we’re paying attention, flashing a quick grin before she continues.

Jasper and I watch Daisy finish her routine and her group do their final cool-down and stretches. It’s their last training session before the break, so when they’re done all the girls run back to their bags and start handing around Christmas cards and candy canes and the ubiquitous friendship bracelets. By the time she comes skipping over to us Daisy has so much string knotted around her wrists she can barely pull the sleeves of her jacket over it all.

I give her a thumbs up. “Great routine.”

She smiles shyly at Jasper as she quickly tugs her leggings and socks on. “Did you see me?”

He grins back at her. “You were phenomenal.”

I feel the same brief quirk of nameless emotion I often do when I see Daisy and Jasper together, and see the inescapable fact of their likeness. It’s not exactly jealousy, although there’s maybe a part of that – he fathered her and that’s a connection she and I will never have, but she has been mine from the day she was born. But it’s more a profound feeling of love, and gratitude, and beyond that a breathtaking sense of luck because somehow everything in the world lined up in just such a way that this little girl became my daughter. It doesn’t feel like it now, but sometimes…life really did go my way.

“Come on,” I say, holding out a hand. “Let’s go home. It’s Christmastime!”


	20. Merry Fucking Christmas

Nights are the worst. Who am I kidding, it’s all the worst, but nights are their own special kind of hell. That big bed, that was always _ours_ …I hate getting into it alone. Even though I crave the oblivion of sleep there is always a part of me that dreads it, knowing what horrors are lurking in wait in my dreams. And there is always that moment when I drift back into consciousness, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, as I reach out a sleepy arm for Rosalie and have to remember all over again that she’s dead and gone and I am alone.

I feel it even more on Christmas Eve. The kids are so excited that they take ages to settle down in bed. When they’re finally asleep Jonah turns up with the trampoline and I find myself wearing a camping headlight and swearing furiously as I try and assemble it in the backyard. Jonah takes pity on me and stays to help out, and then when we’re still out there an hour later Jasper grabs a flashlight and comes outside to lend a hand too. As I drop another bolt and crawl around looking for it, cursing as I grope through the grass because it’s too dark to see, I can’t help thinking that if Rosalie were here this would have been assembled in ten minutes and I’d be inside relaxing with a beer by now.

Eventually we’re done and the trampoline stands ready for excited kids to wake up to in the morning. Jonah says thanks but no to my offer of a drink and leaves for home, and Jasper and I head back inside.

“I played Santa and put out all the presents!” Alice says gleefully, waving a hand at the living room, the brightly coloured pile of presents stacked up artfully around the tree, the stockings hung on the mantlepiece stuffed full. 

“Thanks, it looks great. We just need to do one final thing.” I laugh and reach for the cookies that the kids left out for Santa. I stuff two in my mouth, washing them down the with now room temperature glass of milk, and then take a huge bite out of the third and leave the rest of it on the plate. “There. Now Santa really has been.”

Alice giggles and gives me a hug. “This is so cute, you being all Santa-dad!” She picks up the carrot the kids left for the reindeer. “Do I nibble this artistically?”

“That’s for the Easter Bunny,” I inform her. “Go and chuck that out to Clementine, that’ll do it…that’s Holly waking up, I’m just going to get her a bottle. You guys should go to bed; the kids are going to be waking you up really early tomorrow.”

Holly drinks her bottle slowly, distracted by the glittering presents and sparkling Christmas tree. I rock her gently, mesmerised by the way the twinkling lights shine on her golden hair and blue eyes. My feelings for my tiny daughter are so complicated, but sitting here in the peaceful quiet the love feels like it’s winning.

“I don’t look at you enough,” I say softly, realising that it’s true. “You look so much like your mama…you’re so beautiful, baby girl.” Holly smiles at me around the bottle in her mouth, and my heart catches.

_I wish you could see her Rosalie. Our little bonus baby…I wish you were here to see how perfect she is._

Holly is already diapered and swaddled for the night, so once she drifts off to sleep I lay her gently in the bassinet and then take the empty bottle back to the kitchen. As I rinse it out I hear Clementine clattering on the porch and knocking against the back door, and I realise I must have left the baby gate at the top of the porch steps open after putting together the trampoline. I grab an apple and go out to my donkey.

“Shhh,” I scold her gently, feeding her the apple and scratching her neck. “You’re going to wake everyone up.”

Clementine dribbles apple juice over my hand and whiffles agreeably. She leans heavily against my thigh and peers through the open door to the kitchen, and I laugh and push her backwards.

“You’re not going inside! Come on, get off the porch.” I nudge her along until she reluctantly jumps back down into the yard and I can swing the gate across the top of the steps. “Sorry Clementine,” I murmur. “I know the porch used to be yours, but I can’t have those little twins falling down the stairs.” I lean on the gate and watch the donkey move away, nosing at the grass, a grey shadow in the moonlight as she heads away down towards the river.

I hear it then. Alice and Jasper in the bedroom behind me, their noises muted and muffled but unmistakable, and heat sweeps through me. As quickly and quietly as I can I leave the porch, closing the door behind me and blocking them out, but nothing can block out the feelings that are twisting my stomach.

Overhearing that, feeling like I’m intruding on something intimate even though they don’t know I have any idea…it’s awkward and uncomfortable and embarrassing, but beyond that I’m choking on the sour taste of jealousy. Because _sweet fucking hell…I miss that._

I fall onto my bed, pulling a pillow over my head and jamming my fist against my mouth. Everything aches.

_Rosalie, I miss you in a thousand different ways every single day, but right here and now that’s a big one. I want you in my arms. I want your mouth on mine. I want your body under my hands. I want your touch on my skin. I want to taste you. I want to feel you, smooth and soft and warm and wet. I want to hear that one particular noise you always make when I do that thing to you. I want to hear you whimper and gasp and moan and then laugh that breathless laugh of contentment when you’re done. I want you to touch me, surround me, overwhelm me. I want us to be together, to do all those things that we were so damn good at, to do all those things that make me feel like I’m flying and falling and burning, and doing it all with you._

_I want you._

My teeth bite hard into my knuckles as the memories rise up, vivid and powerful and hurtful, of the way Rosalie and I were together. Sex had always been part of that. Hot, frequent, passionate sex – it had always been our love language, through long distance college relationships, infertility, pregnancy, breastfeeding, demanding babies and children and exhausting real-life schedules…somehow we always made it work. Always turned to each other with that same desire and fervour and tenderness, bodies naked and vulnerable, of love expressed physically. Because even though I’m thinking about sex, it was always about love. Love as deep as the ocean, as big as a mountain, as strong and everlasting as the world…love that has no outlet now, because she’s gone and I am bereft.

_________________________________________

“Santa came! Santa came!”

“He ate our cookies!”

“Daddy, get up!”

I’m jerked into wakefulness by three kids crashing on to my bed, dizzy with joy and excitement.

“We looked in the living room and there are so many presents!” Daisy bounces beside me. “Can we open them now? Please?”

I yawn, reaching for my phone to check the time. It’s still pitch black outside but it’s just after 6am…good enough. “Yes, okay. But everyone has to be ready; why don’t you go and wake Alice and Jasper and I’ll sort out the babies?”

It takes five minutes to wake Alice and Jasper and the little twins, and then another couple of minutes while Alice starts her Christmas music playlist going and turns on all the Christmas lights in the living room. Dressed in a candy-striped onesie she’s as excited as the kids as they tumble into the living room and pounce on the presents. I give Jasper Holly and her bottle, and then I help the kids sort through gifts and tear off the wrapping. I very deliberately force myself not to think of Rosalie, focussing only on the happiness that’s right in front of me.

“And Santa left you a letter!” Alice snatches up the missive I’d worked on so carefully, with its fancy handwriting and elaborate border and illustrations, and passes it to Daisy. “You’ve got one more present.”

“It’s a trampoline!” Daisy shrieks. “Santa gave us a trampoline too! It’s in the backyard!”

There’s a mini stampede as she and Mac and Noah bolt for the door. I grab Bram and Zeke and follow them out, and it’s worth every frustrating minute of assembling the stupid thing in the dark when I see their glee as they bounce.

“This is the best Christmas present ever!” Mac shouts at me, and I laugh and cringe simultaneously as Daisy does a somersault and narrowly misses kicking him in the head.

“Yeah, but be careful! No crazy gymnastics tricks Daisy, especially not with the others on there with you.” Bram and Zeke are making frantic lunges from my arms towards the trampoline, clearly desperate to join their big brothers and sister. I manoeuvre them in through the opening in the net. “Here, help your brothers.”

I’m not sure that it’s a good idea having all five kids on the trampoline. Especially considering Bram and Zeke can barely walk on flat, solid ground – what do I really think is going to happen on a bouncy trampoline? But it’s hilarious watching them tumble over and roll around giggling as the older kids bounce them heedlessly all over the place. I’m really glad I bought the giant deluxe model with a net.

We stay outside until Zeke headbutts Noah and gives him a blood nose, at which point I realise it’s not even 7am and it’s freezing cold. Everyone’s feet are purple and Daisy’s teeth are chattering.

“Inside!” I proclaim, letting Noah bleed all over my sleeve because I don’t have anything else to stop up his nose with. “Breakfast time!”

I crank up the heat, give Noah a face washer for his nose, and leave Jasper and Alice toasting waffles while I change some saggy diapers on Bram and Zeke. I make sure everyone’s eating breakfast and then take Holly from Alice. The baby was woken earlier than usual by the older kids and is already frowning and waving jerky fists about, her tell-tale tired signs.

“I’ll just put her down for a nap,” I say. “Save me some waffles!”

I grin at them as I leave the kitchen, but the smile falls from my face as I shut myself in my room. Just for a moment I let myself feel it, the gaping hole of Rosalie’s absence and the bone deep sorrow and loneliness and pain it brings with it.

_I wish you were here. I miss you so much. I hate doing this without you._

Tears blur my eyes as I change Holly’s diaper and swaddle her up like a burrito. I give her a pacifier and lay her down in the bassinet, positioning her stuffed zebra where she can see it and running a hand over her curly blonde head. She smiles around the pacifier and blinks her long dark lashes, already drifting off to sleep.

I don’t go back to the kitchen. I go to my bathroom and lock the door, opening up the photos on my phone and scrolling backwards to Christmas last year. A year ago…it feels like a lifetime. My heart cracks wide open as I stare at what I had, and remember how happy we’d been. Bram and Zeke were only a couple of weeks old, younger than Holly is now, Mac and Noah hadn’t started school, Daisy was missing her two front teeth…and there was Rosalie. My beautiful Rosalie with her deep blue eyes and glorious face, smiling at the camera, laughing at the kids and pressing her face against mine so we could both fit in the frame. It staggers me to remember how happy we were, and how confidently I had believed it would never end.

I had it all. And now it’s gone.

My phone falls from numb fingers and I fold, on my knees on the floor with my forehead pressed against the tiles and my fist in my mouth. Trying to breathe around an agony that in this moment feels as fresh and raw as the first day.

I don’t cry. Not this time. Instead I close my eyes and wait for it to pass, because that’s all I can do. And by this point, weeks into my nightmare, I know that it will…if I just hold on and endure, this searing pain will ease, back to the dull bleakness that is the best I can hope for.

“Dad? Dad? Are you coming? Your waffles are ready!” Mac bangs on the door.

I swallow hard. “Be there in a sec. I’m just…I’m just having a shower, okay? Keep them for me.”

“Okay, but you’d better hurry or Jasper’s gonna eat them!”

And once again, there isn’t any choice but to keep going. To get to my feet, to keep going moment by moment, to force myself to do what I have to do to take care of them. The same mantra that has echoed throughout my life once again running through my head.

_Please let me be enough._

I have a quick shower, and get it together enough that I can smile when I go out to breakfast, and laugh with the kids as I mock fight Jasper over eating the last waffles. We play with the new Christmas toys and I jump on the new trampoline with them, although it nearly does my back in and makes me reflect that I’m definitely not as young as I once was. Once Bram and Zeke wake up from their morning nap everyone gets dressed up in nice Christmas clothes and we head over to Esme and Carlisle’s for lunch.

“Mewwy Chwistmas!” Eliza lisps effusively, greeting us at the door. She’s wearing an obviously new princess dress and rhinestone tiara, with glittery bracelets laddered up both arms and sparkling plastic rings on every single one of her fingers, and is teetering along in a pair of plastic high heeled shoes.

“Merry Christmas divine Miss Princess!” I scoop her up and give her a hug, smiling over her head at Edward and Bella. “I don’t need to ask what you got from Santa, do I?”

Eliza beams at me. “I got this pwincess dwess! And I’m so beautiful now with all my jewels!”

Bella shakes her head. “Can you believe she’s my daughter?” she murmurs.

I can’t help laughing. Bella has always fallen into the ‘no-fuss’ category of person and finds Eliza’s extravagant sense of style baffling.

“She’s gorgeous!” Alice declares. “Come on Eliza, let me do a fancy princess hairstyle on you.”

I follow Bram and Zeke as they toddle into the kitchen. Mac and Noah and Daisy are already there, competing to tell Carlisle and Esme everything that Santa bought for them. Jasper carries Holly for me, putting her into the baby swing that Esme has left over by the Christmas tree.

Esme takes a quick break from her cooking to give me a hug. “How are you?” she asks quietly. “Holding up? I know today is going to be hard.”

I shrug. “I’m okay.” I head towards the fridge. “Do you have any beer?”

“There’s some in the garage fridge,” she tells me, hesitating for a moment before adding quietly, “But…take it easy today. Please Em.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say mildly. “It’s just a beer. It’s not like the rest of you aren’t going to break out the wine over lunch.”

I’m being deliberately obtuse though. I know that I’m drinking not just because I enjoy the taste, but because it’s a means of dealing with the pain. A couple of drinks lays a gentle numbness over the thought of Rosalie, and makes it easier to laugh with my kids and smile at their happiness with Christmas. A few drinks let me relax, and makes it possible to get through this day without crying. And if Esme doesn’t like it and Carlisle tries to steer me away from having another later on…well, that’s their issue, not mine.

And it works, more or less. I might overdo it a little bit, and when it’s time to go home at the end of the day Alice takes my keys with a very pointed look and drives. But I get through the day and I hold it together until all the kids are in bed, exhausted but happy, and I’m sprawled out on the floor of the living room staring at the Christmas tree lights.

“You need to stop drinking so much.” Alice sits quietly by my side.

I roll my head to the side and look at her. “Give me a break. It’s Christmas – it’s not a big deal.”

“I mean it.” Alice’s eyes are shiny with tears. “It’s not just today. If that was all it was I wouldn’t care, but you and I both know it’s more than that. You can’t do it Emmett, you can’t go down that path…not after the way we grew up.”

“It isn’t anything like that.”

“Not yet. Maybe not ever. But do you really want to risk it?” Alice touches my shoulder. “I’m not going to lecture you. I know what you’ve been through, and I understand why you might feel like you need it right now. But you have alcoholism and addiction coming at you from both sides of your family, and your kids need you and when you drink you’re not there for them like you should be…I’m just saying this because I love you, I love all of you, and I don’t want to see you spiral down any further.”

She kisses my forehead and tiptoes quietly away, and I stare at the tree until the lights blur into nothing more than a smear of colour, Rosalie’s stocking hanging empty behind it, and try not to think anymore.

_Merry fucking Christmas._


	21. Fifty-eight Days

“Everyone’s teeth have been cleaned, but Bram and Zeke will need new diapers before bed,” I tell Carlisle. “I just gave Holly a bottle so she shouldn’t need another one for a while, but whenever she seems hungry go ahead and feed her and put her down for the night…” I break off, noticing his amused smile. “What?”

“We have baby-sat for you before,” Carlisle points out. “Just once or twice.”

I laugh a little foolishly. Since Rosalie died Carlisle and Esme have practically been raising my kids right alongside me. But tonight Alice is dragging me out because it’s her last night before she and Jasper return to New York, and somehow leaving the kids like this feels different.

“We’ll be fine,” Carlisle assures me, holding his hands out for Holly. “Won’t we, little one?” He kisses her nose and Holly opens her mouth wide in a dimpled smile.

“They’ll be fine,” Alice echoes, appearing at my side. “Go and get dressed.”

“We’re just going to the bar,” I say.

“Yes, and you’re not going wearing that,” Alice says imperiously, eyeing my ratty jeans and t-shirt marked with baby spit up with disgust. “Want me to pick something out for you?”

“No! I’m a grown ass adult and can probably handle picking out a pair of pants and a shirt!”

I go back to my room and wrench open the closet door. Doing my best to ignore Rosalie’s side I grab a pair of dark jeans and a shirt and dress quickly. It’s not exactly formal wear, but after weeks of wearing unwashed jeans and crappy old sweatpants it feels almost uncomfortable, and for a moment I wish I hadn’t agreed to go out. Staying home with a cold beer and a bag of chips to watch Power Rangers with my kids might not be exciting, but it’s safe and easy and right now that appeals.

Alice is insistent though, and I promised I would go. So I kiss the kids goodbye and admonish them to behave, then grab a coat and head out with Alice and Jasper to meet Edward and Bella.

I like our local bar. It’s a laid back kind of place, with comfortable seating, good food, a big screen tv and pool tables, and a beer garden for when the weather’s good. It gets busy on Saturdays when they have live music, but the rest of the week it tends to be quieter and more casual. Rosalie was a pool shark from way back, and she and I used to go pretty regularly before we had kids, spending many relaxed hours here with Edward and Bella and other friends. It happens less often since the kids came along, but it’s always been an easy and convenient night out when we had a babysitter. The memories rise up as I enter, and I swallow hard and try to force them away. All I want is a relaxing night…I wonder dully how long it will be before I can do _anything_ without being tormented by memories and feelings of loss.

Tonight won’t be that night. Not when Edward and Bella are already there when we walk in, setting up a game of pool for which I don’t have a partner.

“I’ll sit this one out,” Bella says hastily, apparently reading my mind. She offers me her cue. “Edward would rather have you as a teammate anyway!”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll get the first round…” I make a step towards the bar, and Bella nearly whacks me in the ribs with the cue.

“No, you play! I’ll get drinks.”

“Come on Emmett, I’ll let you break,” Alice says, chalking her cue and smiling at me mischievously. “I’ve been practising; I bet I can win now.”

 _Now that Rosalie isn’t here to whip everyone’s ass,_ I finish silently. But I put on my game face and grin back, taking the cue Bella’s shoved into my hands even though I know she will have picked the hopeless crooked one. “Just go ahead and try Monkey-face.”

The night does get easier. We play a couple of games of pool and then snag a table and order some food, sharing pizza and wings while the band warms up. The crowd picks up once they start playing, and my trips to the bar for refills take longer as I’m waylaid by friends and acquaintances I haven’t seen in weeks. I meet a lot of people in my line of work and I tend to enjoy catching up with clients and networking for more, and this is a popular local hangout. The people I run into who know what’s been going on in my life buy me drinks, and the people who don’t know talk to me without the kid glove treatment, and I’m not sure which I appreciate more.

“Here you go.” I deposit the tray of drinks I’ve just bought on the table and fall into my chair.

“Thanks.” Alice takes a beer and says lightly, “I was wondering if you were going to come back to us, or if you’d found someone more interesting to hang out with.”

“Just ran into a few people I know from work,” I shrug. “Nothing that interesting.”

Alice laughs. “Really? I think that woman you were talking to while you were waiting at the bar would be quite disappointed to hear you say that…you do realise that she was _totally_ hitting on you?”

I nearly choke on my beer. “What? No, she’s just someone I’ve tattooed a couple of times. She’s thinking of adding to the chest piece and was asking me about it. There wasn’t anything more to it than that.” I look around the table. Edward seems as confused as me, but Jasper and Bella are both hiding smiles.

“Are you blind?” Alice asks theatrically. “I mean, maybe it’s been a while since anyone tried to pick you up in a bar, but that was pretty obvious! Considering her shirt is already low-cut enough that I can see the chest tattoo clear as day from across the room without even trying, pulling it down even further to flash you half her boobs probably wasn’t _strictly_ relevant to the conversation at hand!”

“You’re full of shit,” I mutter. “Who cares anyway?”

“Oh, I am not! I am totally right about this!” Alice smirks. “That woman is absolutely keen on you, and while I’m not saying you have to do anything about that, I am saying that if you wanted to…well, Mom and Dad are babysitting and no one is going to judge you if…”

I shake my head and raise my glass, glaring at her over the rim. “Do you mind? Maybe you’ve forgotten that I’m actually married?”

The smile falls from Alice’s face, and she leans towards me and says softly, “I know. But…she’s gone, Em. And you’re still here.”

“Fucking hell!” I slam the glass back down onto the table, hard enough that what little beer is left sloshes out over my hand. “Are you serious? You think I’m going to…what? Forget about Rosalie and just go out and fuck some random woman? Now? You’re telling me to do that?”

Alice bites her lip. “I’m not telling you to do anything,” she says. “And I would never expect you to forget about Rosalie. That’s never going to happen. But you are going to have to make a life without her, and it isn’t any kind of betrayal or awful thing if you want to let go for one night and hook up with someone else.”

“I can’t even…” The blood is rushing in my ears. “ _Fifty-eight days_. That’s how long it’s been. Fifty-eight days since she died. Fifty-nine days since I had sex, since you’re so concerned…and you think that’s long enough? Jesus…” I glance over at Jasper. “There you go Jas. How do you feel about that? You die, and she’ll wait fifty-eight days before she goes out hunting for some dick.”

Bella and Edward look like they’d rather be anywhere else but here, but Jasper just looks back at me steadily. “She didn’t mean it like that.”

The pressure in my chest is making it hard to breathe. “Well that’s what it fucking sounded like. And I’m sorry if my grief here is…inconvenient…or a downer for you, but I’m not…fuck this.” I push away from the table and weave my way through the crowd, heading towards the bathroom.

I wash the spilled beer off my hands and splash water on my face, realising when I look up and catch Edward’s eye in the mirror that he’s followed me.

“Are you okay?” He pulls a piece of paper towel from the dispenser and hands it to me.

“Not really.” I dry my hands and rub the towel over my face.

“Alice didn’t mean to upset you. She didn’t mean to put pressure on you to do anything you’re not ready to do,” Edward says. “No one wants that. She jumped the gun here, it’s too soon, but she just wanted to let you know that she – that _all_ of us – would understand if you were to meet someone. No one is expecting you to forget about Rosalie and no one is saying you have to be out there dating and looking for a new wife already…but no one is expecting you to live like a monk, either.” He gives me a half embarrassed smile. “I know this whole conversation is awkward, but we just want you to know that we love you and want you to be happy, and we wouldn’t judge you if you decided that living a life of celibacy isn’t for you.”

I laugh raggedly. “I wish I _could,”_ I say, the alcohol lowering my inhibitions and making me reckless with my words. “Damn Edward, it’s been fifty-nine days and this is the longest I’ve ever gone without sex since the first time I did it…but right now I can’t even get hard without thinking about death, and those goddamned nightmares I keep having of fucking her corpse, and that just wipes out any desire at all. I mean, every time I think about sex I think about Rosalie, and that having sex made her pregnant and being pregnant eventually killed her…” My voice cracks. 

“Oh Em, I’m sorry,” Edward says compassionately. “You know it wasn’t your fault in any way…”

“Yeah well, whatever…but sex is not even on my list right now,” I say wearily. “I accept that Alice meant well tonight, but…it’s not happening.”

“It probably wasn’t the most tactful way to bring the subject up,” Edward says. “But you know she really has your best interests at heart.”

I know she does, so while Edward goes back to our table I take a detour by the bar and ask Nick the bartender to whip me up a couple of cocktails. “I don’t care what’s in it, but it needs to look pretty and have a paper umbrella and to basically scream out ‘I’m sorry’ please,” I direct him.

Nick laughs and does what I ask, giving me what’s left in the shaker after he pours the two glasses. I throw it back, practically going cross-eyed at the sweetness of whatever liqueur he’s mixed, and give him the thumbs up and the remaining contents of my wallet.

“Enjoy!” I say to Alice, putting the glass down in front of her with a flourish that slops it over the rim onto my hand. “Nick made it special. I got one for you too, Bells.” I slide hers over and then lick my hand.

“Oh thanks, that’s…thanks,” Bella says awkwardly. “I’ve had enough though, so maybe you should just have it?”

She shoots a quick glance at Edward, and suddenly the night that wasn’t that good to begin with gets worse. Because it’s not like Bella to turn down fruity cocktails with paper umbrellas, and I realise that she hasn’t drunk anything all night. And now that I’m thinking about it she skipped the wine at Christmas too which, in Bella’s case, can only mean one thing.

“You’re pregnant,” I say flatly.

Bella hesitates, and then nods. “Yes.”

I should be happy for them. I should give back the same generous love and support I have always received from them, because this is good news and they deserve nothing less. But the words cut like a knife, and the emotions that rise up are black. Sick jealousy over what they have and I no longer do, rage over what I’ve lost, and hopeless fury that the world dares to keep on spinning and people keep moving on when I can’t.

“Well isn’t that something,” I say bitterly. “Congratulations. Good luck with it…here’s hoping you don’t die too.” I toss back the cocktail, half gagging, and even though I hate myself for letting my mouth run like I did I don’t say sorry when Edward gets up and leaves the table, Bella hurrying after him.

“Oh _Emmett_ ,” Alice says in despair. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

“Why?” I say aggressively. “After everything…you ask _why_?”

“Oh, I know why!” Alice says, glaring at me even as her eyes glimmer with tears. “We all know why! And god yes, what happened to Rosalie was horrible and we _know_ how much you’re hurting, but…you can’t keep going on like this! Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean the whole world revolves around you! You’re being an asshole to the people who care about you, you’re turning into a mean drunk…and if Rosalie _was_ here, she would be _furious_ with you.”

I get up and walk out. I can’t listen to her. I can’t hear another word over the frenzied rage that’s making my heart pound and my palms sweat. I hate her for what she said, but just as much I hate myself for driving her to the point of saying it.

Because she’s right. Rosalie, if she could see me from wherever she is…Rosalie would be _livid_.

“Emmett! You’re home earlier than we expected!” Carlisle says, looking a little sheepish as he straightens up from where he and Esme have been snuggled up together on the sofa.

“I walked home.” I flop down into the recliner. “Alice and Jasper will come back later.”

Esme pats Carlisle’s thigh and leans towards me, her brow creased in concern. “Are you okay?”

The hollow feeling inside me grows. Seeing her and Carlisle together, after an evening of watching Edward and Bella, and Alice and Jasper…it hurts. After growing up surrounded by dysfunctional relationships in my childhood, I am very conscious of the good relationships I see around me now. Relationships that are unselfish and helpful and strong, rich in the kind of boundless love that brings out the best in people – the kind of relationship that I built with Rosalie and based my life around. But now that she’s gone, seeing them all together, so strong and cosy and together…it makes me feel tired, and sad, and very, very alone.

“it was a shitty night,” I say flatly. “I found out Bella is pregnant.”

I can tell by the way they look at each other that this is not news to them. It occurs to me that Alice and Jasper had reacted with no surprise either. “I guess everyone knew except me then.”

“Edward and Bella weren’t sure how to tell you,” Esme says. “They know you’re having a hard time, and they thought a pregnancy might be difficult for you.”

“It was just a…surprise,” I say at last. “I mean, I suppose not really – I know they didn’t intend for Eliza to be an only child and she’s three now, it’s a normal kind of timeline…they’re great parents; I know it’s going to be great. Eliza is so good with Holly, she’s going to love being a big sister…I’m happy for them…I know what happened to Rosalie won’t…well, Bella’s going to be fine. It’s going to be great…”

I force myself to stop rambling. Everything I said is true, but even when I want to be happy for my brother and his family, all I really feel is heartache.

_I hate that the world is going on without you, Rosa-girl. How can people be living a normal life when my whole world’s gone dark?_

“Have you thought any more about grief counselling?” Carlisle says delicately. “Now that the initial trauma is over and we’re into the next phase?”

“The kids are all seeing someone…”

Carlisle shakes his head. “Not the children. You.” He eyes me keenly. “We can see how hard this is for you, and it might help.”

“What IS this?” I say in frustration. “Why do you all think I should just be over it? Alice tried to tell me tonight I should be going out and having casual sex! I didn’t realise there was a time limit on how long I’m allowed to feel like shit after my wife dies!”

“There’s no time limit on grief,” Carlisle says. “And no one thinks you should be over anything, or back to normal…because there is no ‘back’ to normal. You need to find a whole new normal, and that’s hard. Really hard. And there’s no shame in needing some outside help to do that.”

“I just wish you’d all fucking well leave me alone to deal with this in my own way,” I say hotly, breaking off when I hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Daddy?” Noah hovers in the doorway, clutching his Banky and looking at me uncertainly.

I hold out my arms. “Come here, bud.” He climbs onto my lap and I wrap my arms around him, resting my cheek against the silky softness of his hair. “How are you doing?”

“I had another bad dream,” he murmurs. He snuggles closer, holding his blanket up by his face. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Sure, if you want to.” I look over at Carlisle and Esme. “Thanks for babysitting tonight, I really appreciate it.”

They both still look a little troubled, but they start gathering up their things and moving towards the door. “Holly had her last feed and we put her in bed about half an hour ago,” Esme tells me. “The others all went to bed at their regular times, and they were no trouble.” She strokes Noah’s hair and kisses his forehead and then mine. “Goodnight sweetie.”

Once they leave I carry Noah into my room and deposit him gently onto the bed. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” I whisper, not wanting to wake Holly who is asleep in the bassinet. I change into my pyjamas and clean my teeth, and then slide into bed.

Noah curls up against me with his head on my shoulder. I always keep a nightlight on so I can see to deal with Holly, and his eyes are like dark shadows in the dim light. “I dreamed that I couldn’t find you.”

I tighten my arm around him. “I’ll never let you get lost.”

“I love you Daddy.”

“I love you too, Noah.” I turn my head and kiss his soft hair, and at least for now, the bed doesn’t feel so big and lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Hi everyone. Hope you’re all staying safe and well, and managing as best you can in these crazy times we’re living through!
> 
> I just felt like I wanted to give something of a disclaimer on this chapter, even if it’s silly – but it really doesn’t show either Emmett or Alice at their best, and I want you to go easy on them, lol. Alice is being pushy and way over stepping here, but her heart is in the right place even if her execution is poor. And Emmett reacted badly, but he’s still struggling. I do promise that we are heading towards a brighter future though! 
> 
> Wishing you all a safe and happy Easter, safe at home!


	22. The World Keeps Turning

When I wake in the morning to Holly’s bleating cries, Noah is still curled up at my back like a baby koala. I crawl out of bed, careful not to wake him, and take Holly into the living room.

“Come on jellybean,” I say, laying her down on the sofa and reaching for the wipes. “Don’t wake up the whole house…I’ve just got to change this diaper and then I’ll get you some milk.” I sigh. “You know, if your mama was here, we’d all still be in bed…wouldn’t that be good? She’d be able to just tuck you in with us and give you a boob and we’d still be all warm and comfortable…”

The memory rises unbidden, of warm and lazy mornings in bed, wrapped around Rosalie as she sleepily nursed babies. I remember what it felt like to hold her, my whole world right there in my arms, the sweet smell of breastmilk in my nose and her hair tickling my face.

_I miss you so much._

“I’ll warm up a bottle for her.”

I jump a little when I hear Alice behind me. I wouldn’t have expected her to get up this early, especially after a night out, but by the time I’ve put on a new diaper and buttoned Holly back into her sleeper she’s there with a warm bottle and outstretched arms.

“Can I feed her?”

“Sure.” I pass the baby over and Alice curls up in the corner of the sofa, cradling her in the crook of her arm. Holly’s discontented grumbling stops as soon as the bottle touches her lips.

For a few moments we sit together, Holly’s contented sucking and lip smacking the only sound in the otherwise silent house.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I say eventually.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Alice says contritely. “I knew it was probably too soon to be talking about other women, but she was really checking you out and I guess I thought...maybe it would make you feel better. Even if only for a little while. I was stupid.”

My laugh ends in a heavy sigh. “I miss her too much Alice. Every minute of every day…I don’t have enough space in my head for anything else. Especially picking up women.”

Alice combs Holly’s curls away from her face. “I get that. But…” She hesitates for a moment and then says hurriedly, “But you won’t always feel that way. Maybe not now, or even anytime soon, but one day someone is going to be looking at you like that woman was looking at you last night and you’re going to find yourself looking back. And that will be okay, Emmett, it really will. You can’t live your life for a memory. Rosalie wouldn’t want you to.”

I lean back on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. “I can’t even see it…I keep saying it, but I don’t know how to be without her.”

“I don’t know how it would be either,” Alice says. “I mean, you and Rosalie…you’ve been together since I was five years old, and I know that you’ll never love anyone else in quite the same way. But you’re not old Emmett, and your life isn’t over even though you might feel like it is. I was too quick to jump in and start on about it last night,” she says with a guilty look. “It’s too soon. But I really wanted you to know that I love you, and I’ll support you whatever you do. Except…you have to stop drinking.”

I grimace. “Yeah, yeah…”

“No, I mean it. Everyone else is tiptoeing around you and no one wants to come out and say it…heck, even I kind of fudged it a bit when I brought it up the other day, but what you are doing is just not okay. At all. You’re drinking nearly every day, you’re drinking too much when you do, and…well, you’re turning into kind of a jerk when you’re drunk,” Alice says baldly. “Everyone _understands_ , and no one wants to make things harder for you so they’re not coming out and saying it…but you’re hurting yourself and putting the kids at risk and they deserve better than that.” She puts aside the empty bottle and lifts Holly against her shoulder, rubbing her back and eyeing me directly over the baby’s head. “YOU are better than that.”

Her words sting, because I recognise the truth in what she’s saying. I’m saved from having to answer immediately though, as Zeke waddles into the room and makes a beeline for my arms.

“Dada!”

I pick him up and hug him, kissing his dimpled cheek and nuzzling into the warm creases of his neck to make him laugh. “I know you’re right,” I say quietly to Alice. “I need to stop. It’s just…hard. But I’m trying to change things. Esme’s helping me sort out the childcare issue and I’ve started taking some bookings so I can work again. It’ll make a difference I think. If we can find anyone to look after you monsters that is!” I add a little more light-heartedly as Mac stumbles into the room and squeezes onto my lap with Zeke. “Three babies all day, six kids part of the day…it’s a lot to ask!”

“As I’ve always said, better you than me!” Alice says cheerfully. “I love spending time with you all but I’ve been here eight days and dear god but this is hard work!” She kisses Holly and grins at me. “Frankly I have no idea how anyone does it at all. Now, Mac-Attack…Jasper and I are going back to New York today, but how about we take you all out for breakfast first?”

Mac nods emphatically, and I’m up for anything that means I don’t have to cook/ clean up/ grocery shop to replace the eaten food. It’s even worth the hassle of getting everyone up and dressed, diaper bags packed, kids strapped into carseats and then all hauled out at the other end when we get to IHOP. Alice pays for breakfast and I leave a massive tip to make up for the massive mess two babies in high chairs are capable of creating with pancakes and syrup, and then we all go to the airport. I’m really reluctant to say goodbye to my sister, and as she gives me a long hug in the airport lounge I think I’m not the only one feeling it.

“Thanks for coming for Christmas,” I say. “I don’t know how I would have got through it without you.”

“Anytime.” Alice gives me a final squeeze and looks at me anxiously. “Take care of yourself…I love you.” She swoops down and gives hugs and kisses to all the kids. “I love all of you! Next time you’ll have to come visit us in the city.”

I’m surprised by the usually undemonstrative Jasper giving me a hug too. “Keep in touch,” he says quietly. “Call us if you need anything.”

The kids and I wave until Alice and Jasper disappear through their gate. After that we stay in the airport lounge for a while, because the boys are having so much fun watching the planes taxiing and taking off outside the window. We have to leave when Bram starts to smell, and then I have the fun of trying to corral all six of them in a bathroom while I change his diaper and try desperately not to let anyone else touch anything. Hoping no one has picked up MRSA I herd them all out to the car and drive back towards town, but instead of going home I stop by Edward and Bella’s house.

“Emmett!” Bella opens the door with Eliza bouncing at her side. “Hi you guys.”

“Hi, we’ve come to visit…sorry…” I put Holly’s car seat down on the doormat and pass Bram from my other arm towards Bella. “Can you…?”

I run back down the street after Zeke, who has taken advantage of the fact that I don’t have three hands and has started walking away as fast as his chubby, unsteady little legs will carry him. At least he’s stayed on the pavement and not run into the street. He giggles gleefully as I grab him up into my arms and mutter a few swear word into his ear, and he plants sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on my cheek.

“Dada!”

“Troublemaker,” I say with a resigned laugh, carrying him back to Bella.

“Come on in.” Bella settles Bram on her hip and smiles at me. “Edward’s been called in to work, so it’s just me and Eliza.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I say, following her through the house to the living room at the back and letting Zeke down.

“That’s fine, we’re not busy,” Bella answers. She puts Bram down by the sofa and offers him and Zeke some toys. “The kids can find something to watch on Netflix if they’d like. I was just making a cup of tea, do you want one?”

“Yes please.” I watch for a moment to make sure the kids aren’t going to do anything immediately destructive, and then back into the kitchen. Holly’s asleep in her car seat so I set her down on the floor as I sit at the table, automatically angling my chair so that I can still see into the living room. Bram and Zeke are picking through the toys with Eliza trying to show them particular things, while Mac and Noah and Daisy flip through the Netflix menu.

“Thanks,” I say, as Bella hands me a mug. I stir in some sugar and try to smile. “Bells, I had to come and say I’m sorry about last night. I behaved like an ass, and what I said…I’m really sorry, and I hope you can forget it. I’m truly happy for you and Edward.”

“Thank you. And it’s okay.” Bella takes a sip of her tea. “I know that the timing of this is awful, but we didn’t plan it this way. We actually found out I was pregnant right before Rosalie…right before Holly was born. We were just waiting until after that to share the news, but then everything went wrong and it didn’t seem right to be celebrating.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to live your life around me. You and Edward are great parents, and Eliza’s going to be a great big sister…this is a good thing. Babies are a good thing.” I’m horrified to hear my voice crack, and I press my fist against my teeth to steady myself. “And you’re going to be fine. What I said last night…don’t pay any attention to that. You’re not worrying, are you? It’s all going to go well.”

“I’m not worried.” Bella pauses and then says carefully. “Edward’s kind of a wreck though.”

“But he knows how unlikely anything bad is to happen though, right? I mean, things like what happened with Rosalie are so rare; people have babies all the time and it’s fine,” I say.

Bella nods, “He knows all that. But Edward was also right outside the operating room when they were trying to save Rosalie’s life. He watched her die, and that was…it hasn’t been easy for him.”

I have a sudden, vivid memory of Edward’s face as he told me that Rosalie had died, and I swallow hard. It occurs to me that, lost in my own pain, I have never stopped to really think about what it was like for him to watch them try to save her, and fail.

“It won’t be like that for you,” I say softly.

“No, it won’t be. I’ve already decided I’m going to have a repeat c-section, for one. I had a c-sec with Eliza because she was breech and I’d thought about trying for a VBAC next time but…I don’t think Edward could handle it, to be honest.” Bella sighs. “You should have seen him at the ultrasound we had – he insisted the tech spend just about as much time looking at the placenta as he did at the baby.”

“And everything looks okay?”

Bella smiles reassuringly. “It looks fine. They can’t guarantee no placental issues, but there is absolutely nothing to indicate it’s not all completely normal. The baby looks perfect and everything’s growing right on schedule; we’re due at the start of July.”

“Right around Daisy’s birthday,” I say.

“Yes- because it’s scheduled we get to pick the date though, and my OB looked pretty unenthusiastic at the idea of a holiday delivery!” Bella laughs. “With a repeat c-sec they’ll probably organise it a week or two earlier.” 

“Well, let me know if you need any baby stuff. After having twins I’ve got two of everything…I guess you don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”

Bella shakes her head. “Not yet. And I don’t know if Edward will even want that much uncertainty, but I’m not sure I want to find out either. With a scheduled c-section we’re going to know the birthday and everything ahead of time, so I thought it might be nice to have at least something be a surprise.” She smiles. “I’m all about the hand-me-down clothes though!”

“Well, I’ve got enough baby clothes stored in my basement to start my own consignment shop,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “And that’s without the dresser and closet full of stuff that Holly is still wearing, and the two Rubbermaid tubs of stuff in the next size up for her to grow in to. You know how Rosalie loved to shop. I’ll keep everything for you, and then when the baby is born you can come over and take whatever you want.”

“That will be great,” Bella says. “I’m glad you know now. I didn’t like feeling like I was keeping a secret from you, but I didn’t want to upset you either.”

I try to smile. “I’m happy for you guys. Really. This is going to be great.”

“Thank you. But you don’t have to pretend that this isn’t hard for you.” Bella gives me a direct look. “If I was in your position I don’t think someone’s pregnancy would have me jumping up and down with joy either.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’ve known you a long time Emmett, and you can be honest with me now. I’m not going to be upset or offended by the way you feel.”

“I want to stop time,” I say hollowly. “Part of me hates that the world keeps on turning and everyone keeps on moving forward…and all of it just drags me further and further away from the time when Rosalie was here. _I don’t want to move on_. But everything keeps changing and already it’s so different to the way it was when she was alive…there’s Holly and she’s getting bigger and smiling and everything, Mac lost his first tooth, and Bram and Zeke started walking and now they’re even starting to talk…and now here’s you and Edward having another baby that Rosalie will never get to know. I don’t want a world without her, but it’s building itself more and more every single day, and I can’t do anything about it.” My voice breaks.

Bella hugs me. “Oh Emmett.”

“I know I can’t live my life like this,” I go on haltingly. “I just…I can’t. I’m going to have to move on too, figure out how to live without her and feel okay. But the thought of it, of waking up one day and _not_ feeling that devastation is fucking terrifying.”

“Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting,” Bella says slowly. “And letting go of your pain doesn’t mean that your love – and your loss – is any less profound. But you can’t live half a life. You deserve better than that.”

Bram walks into the kitchen and I hold my arms out to him. He lets me lift him onto my lap and I hug him, only realising when he pats my face that there are tears on my cheeks. “I’m trying,” I say to Bella. “Esme’s trying to help me sort out childcare so I can go back to work and…”

“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot!” Bella slaps her forehead. “Pregnancy brain I guess…I’ve solved that problem for you.”

I look at her. “What, the childcare? Are you offering to do it? Because no offence Bella, you _are_ an amazing woman and all, but I doubt even you can look after Eliza and a newborn plus six of my kids.”

“Not a chance! No, not me…do you remember Angela Weber from Camden?”

I think back to high school. “Um…tall girl? Always making worthy speeches at assembly and raising money for good causes? That one?” 

Bella laughs. “Yes, Angela was always really into social justice issues! She’s still one of the nicest people I’ve ever known, and she’s back in town and needing a job. She’s got childcare qualifications and she’ll be perfect for you guys.”

My arms instinctively tighten around Bram. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to know. I’ve already given her Esme’s number to arrange an interview.” Bella grins. “Trust me on this one, Emmett, Angela is exactly what you need.” 


	23. Another Foundation Stone

“Do you really think this is going to work out?” I say to Esme doubtfully.

“My phone call with Angela was promising,” Esme answers. “She has a degree in early childhood education and she grew up with twin brothers. She didn’t seem phased when I told her what we need. I have to assume that since she’s coming to talk to us today that she’s genuinely interested.”

“I guess that’s good.” I duck my head forward to look into Holly’s blue eyes. I’m lying on the floor on my belly, the baby in front of me doing the same while I try to encourage her to lift up her head. We can only do this when Bram and Zeke are napping, and Holly hates it. “What do you think, little jellybean?”

Holly flops face down onto her blanket and wails.

“Yeah…I know what you mean.” I give up on tummy time, and lift her upright against my shoulder. Holly’s cries immediately abate and she snuffles into my neck, mouthing at my skin. “Are you getting hungry? Was holding up that pumpkin head hard work?” I hear a car coming down the drive. “That’s probably Angela.”

“Go and let her in,” Esme directs me. “I’ll warm Holly’s bottle and you can feed her while we talk.”

With Holly lying across my forearm like a sloth, I go and open the front door. “Hey.”

I had remembered Angela from high school as a tall person with a serious face and kind smile, and looking at her climbing my front steps I don’t think anything’s changed. She’s wearing pants and a sweater, her brown hair in a neat ponytail, and she pushes a pair of glasses up on her nose and grins at me. “Emmett…I would have recognised you anywhere. You look exactly the same.”

I laugh. “I don’t know, I think my mirror tells me something different...come on in. Thanks for coming.” I step back.

“Thanks for talking to me. I’m really sorry about Rosalie,” she says directly.

“Thanks.”

“And this is Holly?” Angela leans towards Holly. “Hello little one…she’s beautiful, Emmett. How old is she now?”

“Two months.” I lead her down the hallway towards the living room, kicking aside some dropped toys and an abandoned pair of shoes. “Sorry I didn’t pick up a bit more, it’s not usually…well, no.” I stop and look back her. “You may as well know what you’re getting in to, if you decide you want this job – my house is always _at least_ this messy.”

Angela laughs. “You’ve got six kids- I was expecting a lot worse to be honest!”

“Angela!” Esme meets us in the living room. She hands me a bottle and then hugs Angela. “Hello! I remember you from Camden; you were in the orchestra with Edward…woodwind section? Was it flute or clarinet?”

“You’ve got a good memory! I played the flute,” Angela says, hugging her back. “It’s great to see you again Mrs Cullen.”

“Please call me Esme. Do you still play?” Esme nudges Angela towards the sofa and sits down beside her.

“Dad always liked me to play at church so I kept it up a little, but I haven’t played for a while,” Angela says. She looks across at me. “I don’t know if you remember, but my dad was a minister. He died a few months ago, and I came back to town to help my mother.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.” I sit in the recliner and offer Holly the bottle. “It sounds like you’ve got a lot to deal with.”

Angela looks a little uncomfortable. “My mom’s just gone into a nursing home, so she’s settled now and I’m looking to get back to work.” She digs into her bag and withdraws a plastic folder that she passes over to me. “I’ve printed out a copy of my resume, which has my qualifications and all my references so you can check them. I’ve explained all this to Esme on the phone, but I grew up looking after my twin brothers and babysitting around the neighbourhood. I worked at a childcare centre during college, where I studied early childhood education. After graduation I worked as a nanny for seven years; I stayed with my first family for just over two years, then almost five years with my last family – I still keep in touch with them all and their numbers are in my list of references. My next job was at a child care centre, I spent time working in all of their rooms and was in charge of the infant room when I left there. I took some time off and then took a job in an aged care facility, where I stayed until my father passed and I came home.”

“From one end of the spectrum to the other,” I comment. “Babies to old folks…it would have been a bit of a switch.”

“Well it was a high-care aged facility, so it still involved diapers and blended food at times,” Angela says lightly. “I needed a change and I enjoyed my time there, but I really missed working with kids and I’m ready to get back to childcare again.”

“Well, that could be lucky for us,” Esme says. “Now, you and I discussed most of this when we talked on the phone, but you’re still happy with the hours being between eleven in the morning and eight at night? You’d have sole responsibility for the babies during the day, and the older children once the bus drops them off after school. Generally speaking Emmett will be home by six, and we thought that if you stayed for another couple of hours after that to help with getting dinner, homework, baths and bedtime done that would be ideal. It _is_ a nine hour day,” Esme finishes a little anxiously. “I know that’s a long time, especially with so many children. But I thought we could start with that, and perhaps have a probationary period of a couple of months and then reassess.”

“It won’t be nine hours every day,” I say. “I mean, it depends a bit on my bookings, but some days you’ll be able to start later or leave earlier. Especially to begin with.”

“I think it’ll be fine,” Angela says confidently. “I’m happy to be flexible around that basic schedule.”

“Wonderful,” Esme says. “As I said on the phone, your primary task will be childcare, with some light housework only as it pertains to the children – picking up toys, loading things into the dishwasher, switching laundry from the washer to dryer…that sort of thing. You’ll have to make lunch for the babies, and dinner meal prep will be something that you and Emmett will have to work out. Of course you’ll be provided with all the food and snacks you want here too.” Esme looks uncertain. “I was thinking that we might try and make a weekly menu plan? Organise grocery delivery so that the ingredients are on hand?”

“I’d love to help with that,” Angela offers. “I really enjoy cooking. As part of my early childhood degree I studied nutrition, and when I worked at my childcare centre I was involved in developing the meal plan.” She grins at me a little shyly. “We can talk about what you and the kids like to eat, and I’ll see what I can figure out.”

“That sounds great,” I say, trying to smile. “Daisy’s kind of picky, but Mac and Noah aren’t too fussy and I eat anything.”

“What you want to do with the children during the day will be basically up to you,” Esme goes on. “The little ones don’t have any organised activities at the moment, but you’ll have access to the minivan with their car seats and if you’re comfortable doing so you’re more than welcome to take them to the park or the library or baby gym. The school bus drops the older children off at the end of the driveway so you’ll have to be home for that, but you won’t have to do a school run. Daisy has gymnastics three days a week, but she walks to the gym after school and Emmett will pick her up and bring her home so that’s nothing for you to worry about. We’ll work out other activities like baseball when it’s needed.”

“I’m sure once we all get to know each other I’ll be happy to take them out sometimes,” Angela says. “You’ve got lots of space outside here too, and I saw the trampoline and the swing set and the outdoor toys when I drove in.”

“We own the field out there that goes down to the river. Bram and Zeke are still kind of little, they’ve only been walking for a few weeks, but the other kids have always liked throwing sticks into the water and taking the walking path along the stream,” I say. “At the moment the little twins nap for a couple of hours after lunch every day. Holly’s still kind of all over the place, but we’ve been trying to get her into a routine where she’ll sleep at the same time – hopefully that’ll happen soon so you’ll get something of a break each day.”

“That would be good, and I’ll work with you towards getting Holly into a settled routine, but I won’t expect it to begin with,” Angela says. “She’s still so young. And Esme and I discussed an hourly rate of pay that takes into account a lack of regular breaks. I know that nannying isn’t a strict nine-to-five job.”

“She’s an easy baby,” I say softly, putting aside the empty bottle and lifting Holly. Half asleep she droops over my shoulder and hiccups, and I smile and kiss the sweet smelling curls covering her head. “Really; she hardly cries, just sleeps and eats and watches the other kids and smiles whenever anyone looks at her. Isn’t that true, little jellybean?”

Holly yawns into my face, and closes her eyes.

“They’re all good kids,” I say a little awkwardly. “I mean, it’ll be hard work, but…they’re good kids. It’s just that there’s a lot of them, and the little twins are hitting that crazy toddler stage where it’s like they’re trying to kill themselves any time you turn your back. Holly needs you for everything but at least she can’t run away if you put her down somewhere. The older kids are dealing with losing their mom and that’s really hard for them, so there’s been some acting out, but mostly they’re all just smart and cute and funny as hell. Rosalie taught them all how to behave right from the day they were born, so they won’t give you trouble…not any more trouble than you’d expect from eight and six and one year olds and newborns anyway,” I finish lamely.

“They do need a lot of love and support right now, as they deal with their grief,” Esme adds. “Losing their mother was a terrible blow, and they’ve all had their sense of security badly shaken. We feel that a consistent, regular carer here at home would be the best thing for them, and Bella couldn’t speak more highly of you. So having said all that…are you still interested?”

“Yes, definitely. And I think…in the interests of honesty…I want you to know that I had a child,” Angela says in a rush. “Micah. I moved from nannying to group care so I could take him to work with me. But when he was almost four he was killed in a car accident. That’s really why I stopped doing child care and went to aged care – after losing Micah I just couldn’t spend my days taking care of other people’s kids when I didn’t have mine. I really do feel ready to go back to it now, and I’d love to nanny for the same family long term again. I just wanted you to know…I understand a little about grief.”

“I’m sorry about your son.” I meet her eyes and see the flash of vulnerability in her face, a hidden wellspring of pain. Like me she has faced the unimaginable, and for a moment we connect and I think that this might work out for everyone.

“Thank you.”

I stroke my hand across Holly’s round cheek and grin at Angela. “I guess the only thing left to say is when can you start?”

She grins back at me. “Whenever you want.”

“Maybe you can start next week? I don’t really have too much lined up, but you could come for a couple of hours each day and just kind…get comfortable with the kids? Get them comfortable with you?” I shrug, half embarrassed. “I mean, I’m sure you’re great and everything, but they’ve only ever stayed with me or Rosalie or Esme really.”

“That’s all right,” Angela says. “Whatever you think.”

Esme glances at her watch. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to dash off. Mac and Daisy and Noah will be dropped off soon; would you like to stay and meet them this afternoon, Angela? Emmett can show you around while you’re waiting and give you more of an idea of what you’re in for.”

“That’d be great. Thank you for everything, Mrs Cullen.”

“Oh, thank _you_. I’m so pleased. And you’ll be seeing a lot of me, no doubt- there will be evenings when Emmett works late and Carlisle or I will be the ones here with you.” Esme comes and gives me a quick hug, dropping a light kiss on Holly’s forehead. “I’ll talk to you later.”

There’s a long, awkward silence when Angela and I find ourselves alone. I’ve never had any trouble talking to anyone, but right now I feel completely out of my depth. It’s a weight off my shoulders to have her agree to look after the kids while I go back to work, but it has also pushed me to the brink of another massive life change and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

_And…it was never meant to be like this. Rosalie should still be here, strong and capable and bossing us all around while she enjoyed her maternity leave. Childcare was always supposed to be me, and Rosalie, and Esme. Family. Not…this._

_Oh Rosa-girl, I miss you._

“Your house is really lovely,” Angela says.

“Oh, thanks.” I look around. “It’s actually the house I grew up in, although this part’s new – we did a big remodel about six months ago where we extended this living room and built on a new master suite and converted the attic to bedrooms. I’ll put Holly in her bassinet and show you round before the kids get home.”

There’s another awkward moment when we enter my room, which is an absolute disaster area. I still don’t like going in the closet so most of my clothes are mounded in a laundry basket in the corner of the room and piled on the dresser. The bed’s unmade, with Noah’s Banky left on the pillow and Holly’s dirty clothes and swaddling blanket tossed carelessly on the end of it.

“This is my room,” I mumble, laying Holly carefully in her bed and wrapping her in her swaddle before she stirs. “Although I usually end up with company most nights- mostly Noah, sometimes Mac or Daisy. I have Holly in here too, just because it’s easier, but she has her own room and I’ll move her bassinet in there when you’re looking after her so you don’t have to come in here.” I can feel my cheeks redden.

“She’s really adorable. The last family I nannied for I had a newborn and I really loved watching him grow.” Angela looks down at Holly in the bassinet for a moment and then smiles at me gently. “I know that it probably feels strange for you to have me here, and it might take a while for you to be really comfortable with this arrangement. I get that. But I really am here to help.”

I put Holly’s zebra at her feet and gather up the dirty clothes and blankets so I can toss them in the hamper. “Yeah, sorry if I’m a bit off. I just never…this wasn’t exactly the way I expected I’d have to do things, you know?”

“I definitely understand that.” Angela follows me out of my room.

I open the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs and lead the way up. The landing at the top has a crammed bookcase and shelving unit, and the doors to the older kids’ bedrooms. “We keep most of the books and all the toys that we don’t want the babies to get at up here – Lego and board games and that kind of thing, and that cabinet has piles of craft stuff and play-doh and all that. You can take anything out that you want to use, it’s just here so it’s out of reach and they can’t ruin things or hurt themselves. That’s Daisy’s room, and Mac and Noah share.”

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” Angela stops in the doorway of Daisy’s room, staring wide eyed at the under-the-sea mural I’ve painted on all four walls. “I remember you were always drawing at high school and I know you tattoo, but I didn’t know…this looks fantastic!”

I can feel the smile break across my face. “Thanks. I’ve done all the kids’ rooms...it’s a bit over the top, but they chose what they wanted and they like it. Daisy has this, and Mac and Noah next door went with space. Holly’s room still has the woodland mural I first did when Daisy was born, and Bram and Zeke have an Antarctica thing. You’ll see in a sec, I think I hear them now.”

We go back downstairs, and I notice that she automatically latches the baby gate at the bottom behind her. I speed up my tour as I head towards the twins’ room. “Okay, this is the kitchen. That’s the door to the basement; the laundry is down there. The spare room – my drafting table is in there, and the printer and a sofa bed and the computer and basically everything that we don’t want the kids to touch. If you have a purse or whatever that you don’t want the kids to get at it’s probably safest in there. This is Holly’s room. She doesn’t sleep in here yet, although like I said I’ll put the bassinet in here or you can transition her to the crib or whatever, but her clothes and spare diapers and stuff are all in the closet and the dresser. The kids’ bathroom is here. And Bram and Zeke…hey my dudes.” The two of them are awake, playing with blankets and their stuffed cat, and they look up at me with happy smiles as I swing the baby gate open. “They sleep together on the floor, so we just gate the room off so they can’t escape.”

“Hello!” Angela drops to her knees by the door and smiles at the boys, who are eyeing her curiously. “Hello Bram and Zeke…which one is which, Emmett? They’re so similar! Is there an easy trick to telling them apart?”

“Not really,” I admit, grabbing the diapers and rolling Bram onto his back. Zeke snatches the spare diaper and crawls to the other side of the mattress, pulling it over his head like a hat. “I mean, once you’re familiar with them it’s easy but it’s really a lot of little things…this one is Bram, and his hair grows back from his forehead a bit more and his chin is kind of different and he’s got a deeper dimple but…yeah, I’ll just draw on them again for you. We colour coded them for the first four months of their lives with Sharpie dots on their hands so we could tell them apart.”

Angela laughs. “Good idea. I’ll learn though…won’t I Zeke?” She holds out her hands to him. “Should I start helping Daddy by changing your diaper? What do you think? Is that okay?”

Zeke looks at her from under his diaper hat and grins, before he plucks it carefully from his head and hands it over. Angela lays him gently down beside Bram and tickles his belly to make him laugh…and just like that we’re one step further on, laying down another foundation stone for our life without Rosalie. I hope it's a solid one. 


	24. Scurvy and Time Turners

I finish my last slice of pizza and sit back with a sigh. “Thanks for bringing that round.”

Esme smiles at me across the table and shakes her head. “If I’d seen the number of pizza boxes in your recycling I might not have done it!”

I give her a wry smile. “Yeah, the supply of sympathy casseroles has kind of run dry.”

“Well, that’s something that’s going to have to change,” Esme says briskly, stacking the plates and tipping the kids’ abandoned crusts into the garbage can. “You and the children have to start eating better before you all come down with scurvy.”

“Pirates get scurvy,” Daisy says. “Because they don’t have oranges on pirate ships. It makes your teeth fall out and your eyes pop out…are we really going to get scurvy? I eat a gummy vitamin every day.”

“You won’t get scurvy if you eat pizza,” I say. “Sauce is made from tomatoes and there’s plenty of vitamin C in that. Calcium in the cheese, protein in the meat…it’s practically a health food.”

“Now that’s a reach if ever I heard one!” Esme says. “Hopefully once Angela starts you’ll be able to do a bit better.”

“I’m trying,” I say a little defensively. “You might have noticed that I’m drinking milk here, and not beer – doesn’t that count for something?” I grab a face washer and start wiping kids’ faces.

“So it’s all set then?” Carlisle says, diverting the conversation. “Esme said things went well with Angela and she’s happy to start next week. What did you think, kids?”

Daisy swats my hands away. “I can wipe my _own_ face, Daddy, and that face washer is gross.” She takes a napkin and delicately pats her mouth. “I think Angela was really nice. She likes Harry Potter too…she’s a Hufflepuff.”

Mac ducks away from the face washer. “She’s not Mommy.”

“She’s not supposed to be Mommy,” I say, trapping his head in the crook of my elbow and ruthlessly scrubbing the pizza sauce off his face.

“Angela isn’t trying to take Mommy’s place,” Esme says more gently. “No one can do that. But Daddy can’t take care of all of you by himself, _and_ go to work at the same time.”

“Do you _have_ to go to work?” Mac scowls.

“I have to earn a crust,” I say cheerfully. “All this scurvy-causing pizza costs money you know.” I swipe the face washer over Noah’s face. “Maybe once I’m back at work and making some money we can look at giving you guys an allowance or something? Now that you’re big school boys.”

Noah smiles at me anxiously. “That’s okay. I think that lady was nice.”

I rumple his fair hair affectionately. “I think you’ll all like Angela once you get to know her. Your auntie Bella says she’s great, and she’s a pretty good judge of character. Now, you three need to go and put on your pyjamas…off you go.”

Daisy, Mac and Noah scramble down from the table and thunder upstairs, and I wipe pizza sauce out of Bram’s ear and pick a shred of cheese out of his hair. “You need a bath my little dude.”

“I’ll go and run one,” Esme says, and leaves for the bathroom.

“Have you spoken to Jonah about starting back at work?” Carlisle asks.

I clean the worst of the mess off Zeke’s face and hands. “Yeah, he hasn’t given away my space or anything – he’s really keen for me to get back to it. Probably sick of dealing with my apprentice too, to be honest! I’ve been emailing with a few of the clients on my waitlist recently, doing some sketches, and I should be able to set up a couple of appointments for next week. But I don’t want to just dump the kids on a stranger and run, so I’m not rushing too much.” I lift Zeke out of the highchair and start peeling off his clothes.

Carlisle takes Bram from the other highchair. “The little ones will be fine with Angela. Esme spoke to her references, the families she nannied for, and they had nothing but glowing reports of her.”

I blow a raspberry on Zeke’s bare belly. “Go find Grandma!” I say to him. “Go to the bathroom, go on.” 

He toddles off giggling, and Carlisle slips Bram’s diaper off and sends him after his brother.

“I’m sure Angela will be great,” I say, gathering up the dirty clothes. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I thought any different. But they’re all still babies and they can’t even talk and…I know it’ll be fine, but it’s not that easy to trust someone who is essentially a stranger. I know I used to know her at high school, but that was a pretty damn long time ago.”

“I know you’ve been badly let down by people in the past,” Carlisle says. “Your background doesn’t lend itself to trusting very easily. But I’m about as sure as I can be that Angela will be an excellent caregiver.”

“Yeah…” I stare down at the toddler clothes in my hand, feeling another drowning tsunami of grief bearing down on me. “And I’m really glad that we’ve got it all sorted out. But it’s still…it’s not…I can’t help but wish that it wasn’t _necessary,_ you know? It tears me apart to think that they don’t have their mama, and creating this life that doesn’t include her just feels… _wrong_ …” The words choke me.

Carlisle wraps his arms around me. “It’s all right, Emmett,” he says softly. “It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry. I know I have to stop doing this…I can’t keep on bawling my eyes out and refusing to face reality…but I miss her so much.” My voice is muffled against Carlisle’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Carlisle says again. “I know how difficult it all is, but you’re doing the best you can and you’re doing fine. You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. It’s just going to take time.”

Time…yeah, great. It’s all very well and good to say it will get easier in time, but that doesn’t feel like it’s helping me get through _now._

But what else can I do but take a shuddering breath, wipe my eyes, and get on with the evening routine? The children need to be bathed and helped to clean their teeth, and then Daisy does her spelling homework while Noah reads aloud to me. Daisy gives Holly a bottle while I spend a torturous twenty minutes encouraging, coaxing, and cajoling Mac through his own reading homework. Bram and Zeke empty the toybox all over the living room while I get Mac and Noah settled in bed listening to their bedtime story podcast. Daisy has a shower while Holly cries in the swing and I grit my teeth and try and get Bram and Zeke to wind down enough to stay on their mattress and go to sleep. Eventually I give up and leave them blowing raspberries and spitting at each other and laughing, so I can go and tend to Holly, who I discover is crying because she’s had a diaper blowout that has somehow managed to get down to her knees and half way up her back, and leaked through her sleeper all over the swing.

“Impressive,” I say with a sigh. “But your timing could be refined.”

I gingerly peel off her clothes and leave everything in a stinking, shit-stained mess in the swing while I clean her off as best as I can with the wipes before I carry her into the bathroom where Daisy is singing happily in the shower.

“Sorry little bug, but can I stick your sister in there for a second?” Holding Holly under her armpits I reach into the shower and hold her under the water. “If you could just wipe the poop off her leg, that would be great.”

“Daddy, that’s so gross!” Daisy shrieks, but she obligingly helps wash Holly. I jiggle the baby around to shake off the excess water and then wrap her in a towel, passing another one to Daisy. 

“Thanks kiddo. Get dried off while I sort Holly out and then it’ll be bedtime for you too.”

I get Holly dried and then take her to her room for some fresh clothes. Next door Bram and Zeke have calmed down and are lying together by the baby gate to the hallway, Zeke chewing on the ear of the stuffed cat while Bram holds the tail and makes a droning humming noise. Next on the agenda _should_ be reading Harry Potter with Daisy but the swing full of dirty clothes is making the whole house smell like shit so with a grimace and few muttered curse words I carry Holly upstairs and lie her on Daisy’s bed.

“Sorry little bug, I’m just going to be a few more minutes,” I say apologetically. “I’ve got to clean up that mess in the living room…I’ll be back in just a second.”

Daisy looks impatient, but I run downstairs and yank the cover off the swing and then bundle everything up and bolt down to the laundry to rinse it all off and get a load of laundry going. I take a moment to go and move the now sleeping Bram and Zeke to their mattress and straighten up their sleep sacks before opening the living room window to air out the house, then grabbing the iPad, climbing the stairs, and collapsing onto Daisy’s bed.

_This would be so much easier with another person._

“I’m sorry you had to wait,” I say tiredly, snuggling both her and Holly into the curve of my arm and handing her the iPad.

“I always have to wait,” Daisy says, resting her head against my shoulder and opening the audio book app. 

I feel a stab of guilt, because she’s not wrong. Six kids mean needs have to be prioritised, and as the oldest Daisy is too often last on the list. “I really am sorry,” I say. “I know it’s not fair. But I’m really glad you waited for me because I want to know what happens next in Harry Potter!”

“It’s okay really,” Daisy says. “I know you can’t really just leave the babies to do whatever they want. And that poop smell was really disgusting.”

I kiss her forehead. “It really was! And you’re an absolute champion little bug – you have been such a big help and been so good about everything, I’m so lucky to have you around. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Daisy kisses my nose.

“It should be a little bit easier once Angela starts,” I tell her. “Then she’ll be able to help with the boys’ bedtime and hopefully you won’t always get stuck waiting or being the one who has to help with everything.”

I brush her damp hair back from her forehead. In the past couple of months Daisy has matured beyond her years, but she’s still a little kid and I don’t want her to lose any more of her childhood than she already has. “Come on now though, let’s get on with this book…I want to find out how many points Harry’s going to lose for Gryffindor tonight.”

Daisy connects to the Bluetooth speakers and the two of us settle back as Stephen Fry’s voice drifts through the room. Holly lies between us, placidly holding on to my fingers and chewing on my thumb, staring mesmerised at the shifting, flickering patterns of light playing over the ceiling and walls from Daisy’s projection lamp. For the first time all day, I feel myself really relaxing.

Thank god for audiobooks. My attempts to replace Rosalie as Daisy’s Harry Potter reading partner had been a dismal failure that had left both of us miserable. I hated reading aloud, she hated my halting, monotone delivery, both of us hated that Rosalie wasn’t here to do it properly…giving up and downloading the audio file had been the best thing I could have done. Instead of dreading the chore I now look forward to our nightly story time together, and have been getting really into the story and the chance it gives me to chat and check in with Daisy every day.

“I think my Patronus would be a narwhal,” Daisy says, after reluctantly stopping the story for the night. “They’re the unicorns of the sea…what do you think yours would be?”

“A miniature donkey. Like Clementine.” I swish an imaginary wand.

“That would be so funny!” Daisy laughs, but then the smile drops off her face and she says wistfully. “I wish…wouldn’t it be good to have a time-turner? So we could go back in time and see Mom again.”

_Aww Daisy…if only._

“When would you go back to?” Daisy asks quietly.

The bottomless well of loneliness and grief yawns ahead of me, and I know that even thinking about this is a dangerous game, but… “Halloween,” I say, closing my eyes as my mouth curves up in a smile. _The last night._ “I’d go back to last Halloween, when we all went out trick or treating.”

“Oh, that was so much fun! I love Halloween.” Daisy tickles her sister’s cheek and chews her lip. “But we didn’t have Holly then.”

“Well, not on the outside. But she was there.” I remember Rosalie’s distended pregnant belly, and the feel of the baby moving under the taut skin. “What about you, little bug? Where is the time turner taking you?”

“I don’t know,” Daisy says with a sign. “Halloween was good, and I really loved our vacation to the beach last summer. I wish I could go back to one of those times, when Mommy was here and when you weren’t always so sad all the time.”

 _Oh, little bug. I’m sorry._ I tighten my arm around her, and eventually manage to say, “I’m not sad all the time…I’m not sad right now; I love listening to Harry Potter with you.”

“But you’re not happy like you used to be.”

“I miss your mom,” I say honestly. “I miss her all the time. And without Mom here to help I can’t just be a giant goofball all the time, because looking after all you kids properly is important and I have to take it seriously! But I’m okay little bug, and I really don’t want you to worry about me.”

Daisy pulls aside the neck of my t-shirt and touches the edge of the roses tattooed over my heart. “I really miss Mom too. If I had a time turner I probably wouldn’t even pick anything super special like a holiday…I’d just go back to a regular day when she was here. You know, so she could do my hair and read my book with me and I could just talk to her.”

I touch the roses too, my fingertips brushing against hers. “That would be really nice. Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk to Mom about?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual.

“Just girl stuff.” Daisy shrugs.

“You can talk to me about girl stuff if you want to,” I offer. “I’m not a girl, but I’ve lived with girls for a long time…I might know something. Or else I can help you figure stuff out.”

Daisy laughs half-heartedly. “I know you would try. But some things…like what about when I need a bra?”

“Well, you probably don’t have to worry about that _quite_ yet,” I say diplomatically. Daisy’s so skinny there’s less to her chest than Mac and Noah have. “But whenever you decide you want to wear one I can take you to the store, or go online, and buy you one. I’ve never worn a bra myself, but your mom wore them every day and so I know a little bit about them!” I wait until she giggles before saying, “But if you’d rather go bra shopping as a girls’ activity I’m sure Grandma or Alice would love to help you out.”

“Okay.” Daisy nods. “I don’t want to wear a bra now or anything. But I was just thinking about it because we had that special girls’ assembly at school. About puberty and periods and everything?”

“Oh yeah, I remember signing the permission slip for that. Did you learn anything?”

“Not really, because you and Mom already told me and I have that book, and when Mom was pregnant she showed me those videos of ladies having babies so I know how they’re born. But they said about how you might get your first period early or late or whatever, like your mom did. And I can’t ask…”

“But I know that one!” I say triumphantly, like it’s a trivia quiz, adding in response to Daisy’s incredulous look. “I do! When we were trying to have a baby your mom had to tell the doctors all about her periods, so I know that she had her first one when she was twelve. But if it’s a genetic thing, you probably want to know about Alice anyway – I don’t know about her. She’ll be happy to tell you if you ask, or I’ll ask her for you if you want.”

“Oh.” Daisy looks surprised, and then gives me a shy smile. “Well, I guess you do know about girl stuff. A bit.”

I laugh and kiss her forehead. “I try. I’m not as good as your mom, but…I’m trying. And we’re doing okay really, don’t you think? I mean, everyone gets to school and gymnastics more or less on time, and Holly’s up to date on her shots and growing like a weed. And despite what Grandma says, no one has scurvy or rickets or whatever else it is that you get from living off pizza and beer,” I finish.

Daisy giggles again. “I think we’re doing good.”

“We are.” I get to my feet, picking up Holly and the iPad in one hand and using the other to straighten Daisy’s quilt. “We’re doing just fine.”

And despite everything, despite the pain and the loss and the never-ending grief…the words carry the glimmer of truth. We’re doing okay.


	25. A Different Kind of Normal

Angela arrives as expected Monday morning, knocking and waiting for me to go and open the door.

“Hey. You don’t have to knock from now on,” I say, opening the door and stepping back for her to enter. “It’ll be easier if you just give a yell and come right on in. I suppose I should really give you a key too.” There’s a full set of keys sitting on the hallway shelf right next to my elbow, but they’re Rosalie’s…I can’t give her them. “I’ll get one cut next time I’m at the mall. No real hurry though – we don’t lock the door unless we’re going out.”

“That’s cool.” Angela smiles and then looks at the toddler I’ve got tucked upside down under my arm. “And hello…I have no idea which one you are.”

“Oh, it’s Bram.” I flip him the right way up. “Come on Thing Two, say hi to Angela.”

He dimples at her and then hides his face and I grin at Angela over his head. “Guess he’s feeling shy.”

“That’s okay. We’ll get used to each other.”

We go to the living room, where Zeke is feeling none of his brother’s shyness and immediately abandons his blocks to check out this new person. Angela, who is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, drops to the ground and starts talking to him, letting him paw at her necklace and examine her watch. She does stop him pulling her glasses off, gently catching his hands and drawing them back away from her face. Her manner with him is easy, and I relax a little as Zeke chuckles.

“They’re really identical, aren’t they?” Angela looks from Zeke to Bram and shakes her head. “I won’t be able to change their clothes or I’ll never remember which one is which.”

“Oh yeah, we had the same problem at the start. We kept their hospital bracelets on until they started getting too tight, and then started drawing on them.” I carry Bram into the kitchen and find a Sharpie, coming back to the living room and writing their initials on the back of their pudgy little hands. “There you go, that’ll make it easier.”

Angela laughs. “Thanks. Where’s Holly?”

“Sleeping. She’s been down for about an hour and a half, and will probably sleep for another half hour to an hour…she’s really the easiest baby I’ve ever had. Daisy basically cried for the first three months of her life, and while the boys weren’t that bad there were always two of them and it was more than twice as hard. Holly is…well, I definitely got lucky there.” I sit down on the edge of the sofa, letting Bram stand up on my thighs where he grabs at my cheeks and makes cow noises, his newest trick. Without thinking about it I moo back at him, before catching Angela’s amused look and flushing awkwardly. “Sorry, I…sorry. This just feels really weird.”

She pushes her glasses up on her nose and smiles at me. “I know. There’s always going to be an adjustment period with a new nannying job, for everyone, but this one is a bit more…I don’t know! It’s weird for me too! I keep remembering the way you were at high school!” She laughs, a little embarrassed. “I was such a geek, and you were always so kind of…cool.”

“I wasn’t cool!” I snort. “Until Esme took me shopping and dressed me up I was wearing Walmart jeans and ripped up thrift store t-shirts and shitty sneakers! And I spent half the time in special ed because I could barely read!”

“Yeah, but none of that mattered! You were tall and intimidating, and always came across so self-confident!” Angela protests. “And then you were dating Rosalie, and she was so smart and beautiful and good at everything, it was all a bit off-putting for us lesser mortals…” Her cheeks turn red. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if you’d rather I didn’t talk about her?”

Angela’s casual mention of Rosalie has taken my breath away, but it came out so naturally that the accompanying pain seems to have blunted edges. “No,” I say slowly. “I don’t mind. I try and talk about her, around the kids, just so they know…I don’t want them to forget her. So no, I don’t mind.”

Angela nods and says a little hesitantly, “When Micah died, I _wanted_ to talk about him, but so many people wouldn’t. Even when I was the one who brought him up they’d act so uncomfortable, like they didn’t want to deal with my memories or my grief…”

“Or they don’t want to say her name, in case it makes you sad,” I say tightly. “Like you might have forgotten, until they remind you.”

“And it’s not like you ever _stop_ thinking about it, not at first.”

“Exactly. And I mean, sometimes it’s hard to talk about her…but avoiding the subject isn’t any easier. And with the kids, I _have_ to talk about her. I _want_ to, and I want other people to talk about her too. Because realistically, what we say…that’s mostly all the kids are going to have of her. Daisy will have some memories, and Noah and Mac might too if they’re lucky, but it’s not going to be a lot. It’s not going to even come close to everything that Rosalie was. And the babies will have nothing at all.” I shrug, letting Bram slither off my lap. “I like that you knew Rosalie at school. That was a long time ago, but…at least it’s something.”

Angela picks up one of the small cars scattered around the floor and holds it out to Bram, who approaches her cautiously. “We weren’t close friends or anything, but I certainly remember Rosalie well.” She grins at me. “I have to admit I was pretty surprised when Bella told me about how many kids you guys had. I would have imagined Rosalie in some high-powered science job with a tidy little pigeon pair of kids, a boy and girl doing STEM extra-curriculars and cheerleading from toddlerhood.”

I give a genuine laugh. “Yeah, I can see that! She was always pretty driven to achieve. But she married me, so I guess I dragged her down.”

“I didn’t mean that!” Angela is bright red and floundering. “Bella has told me how happy the two of you were together. It’s just that six kids is kind of…”

“Messy?” I suggest dryly, smiling to make it clear I’m not offended. “Chaotic?”

Angela ducks her head and smiles at Bram. “A little bit, I imagine.”

“It’s all right,” I say, opening my arms and letting Zeke clamber up on my lap. “I know what you mean…damn, I woke up next to her every morning and sometimes it still surprised me that Rosalie was here, with me. As for the kids, well it wasn’t exactly in the life plan to have _quite_ so many,“ I admit. “We didn’t bargain on two sets of twins, and Holly was something of a surprise – which is probably pretty obvious. What kind of lunatic would purposely plan to have three babies under a year old?”

“Not too many people, I wouldn’t think!” Angela says. “You certainly have your hands full.”

“Your hands too now I guess,” I say, adding stiffly. “I really do appreciate that you were willing to give this a try.”

“Well, I needed a job so I guess it works out in both directions,” Angela says honestly. “My mom just went into care and I really want to stay close to her.”

“Is your mom not well?” I ask.

“She has Alzheimer’s disease.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. My dad was taking care of her, but she deteriorated after he died and even though I’ve tried, she needs more care than I can offer her on my own. I found her a place in a facility that seems good, but I want to be nearby to keep an eye on things, and be there for her when she needs me.” She smiles at me. “Mom’s usually better in the mornings, so starting here late morning means I can check in on her whenever I want, which will be great. It means I can talk to her doctors sometimes too, and be involved in her care.”

“Well, when I said your hours would be kind of flexible, that can go both ways,” I say. “If you need time to do something for your mom, we can probably work something out. My work hours are pretty irregular anyway, and Esme and Carlisle are happy to step in when they can too.”

Already I want this to work, and not just because I don’t know what the heck else I’m going to do with my kids if she quits. Angela has a kind of quiet steadiness that feels restful and easy to be around, and watching her with my kids only strengthens my gut instinct to trust her.

She and I play with the twins for a while and then fix them lunch, which involves a quick tour of all my kitchen cupboards so she’ll know where to find the peanut butter and sippy cups. I introduce her to Clementine, who enjoys the attention and ear scratches, and then leave her supervising Bram and Zeke when I hear Holly wake up.

“Is she hungry? Do you want me to make up a bottle?” Angela asks when I carry the baby back to the kitchen.

“There are prepared bottles in the fridge, I usually make a few ahead of time so that I only have to heat it- that’s the easiest thing to do. She’s taking four or five ounces every four hours, more or less…aren’t you, chunky monkey?” I jiggle Holly in my arms and say to Angela, “Do you want to feed her? If you do that I’ll sort the boys out.”

Angela takes Holly and her bottle into the living room and I clean Bram and Zeke’s faces and take them back to their room for diaper changing and naptime. They’re tired and don’t object too much when I zip them into their sleep sacks and flop them down onto their bed.

“Daddy’s going to go to work,” I say softly, stroking two curly heads. “Angela will be here when you wake up, and then Daddy’s going to come back a little bit later, okay?” I know they’re babies and I don’t know what they understand, but I always talk to them like they do. “You guys be good. Night-night.” I kiss two identical sleepy little faces and close the baby gate behind me as I leave the room.

Catching sight of Angela, curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked underneath her and her head bent low over Holly’s blonde head as she feeds her a bottle stops me in my tracks. I’m learning how to live with the grief, but there are still times when something happens that slaps me in the face with all that I’ve lost. And even though I wouldn’t have expected it, somehow seeing Angela feeding my daughter with such gentleness feels like another knife in the guts. Angela is talking to her softly and Holly’s blue eyes are gazing raptly up at her face…it looks tender and caring and _that should be your mama, baby Holly._

And it’s not.

I put a hand on the wall to steady myself and take a deep breath before I move into the living room with a forced, casual smile. “She was hungry then?”

“There’s nothing left of this bottle,” Angela answers, holding it up. “Is she prone to a lot of gas?”

“Not too bad, I just hold her upright over my shoulder, or sit her up a bit, and that will take care of it.” I kneel beside Angela and gently sit the baby up, rubbing her back as she leans against my hand. Holly burps, a dribble of milk sliding down her chin, and smiles at me. “There you go.”

Angela unpins Holly’s bib and uses it to wipe her face and neck. “Will she stay awake for a while now?”

I nod and get to my feet. “Yeah, probably…I’ve been trying to get her into some kind of routine where she naps at the same time after lunch that Bram and Zeke do, but I haven’t got anywhere with that so far. As soon as the house goes quiet she’s wide awake! But she’s usually pretty happy to spend some time on a blanket on the floor with some toys to look at, or in her swing though, so it’s not too bad.” I hesitate, running a hand through my hair. “I guess I’m going to head off now, if you’re okay?”

“Sure.” Angela puts the dirty bib beside the empty bottle on the side table. “Is there anything you want me to do while you’re gone today? Laundry, dishes, anything?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. Just look after the kids for today. Bram and Zeke should sleep for two to three hours, they usually wake up a little bit before the big kids get home from school. If you give them all a snack – there’s fruit and yoghurt in the fridge - Holly will probably be ready for another bottle and a nap then. I’ve put her bassinet in her room, and all her clothes and diapers are there. She likes to be swaddled pretty tightly for sleeping, the Velcro swaddle wrap is in the bottom of the bassinet – you can use one of those? But I might be back by then – I’ve only got a short job lined up for this first day back, so…um, call me if you need anything. Or call Esme – you’ve got her number? Or call Carlisle if the kids are sick, he won’t answer but he’ll call back…all these numbers are on a sticker next to the landline in the kitchen…”

“I’ll be fine,” Angela interrupts. “You don’t need to worry… _really_. I’ve got your number and I’ll call you if I have any absolutely vital questions, or if something goes wrong. I’ve been trained in first aid and infant and child CPR, and I know the Heimlich manoeuvre and how to call emergency services if there’s a fire.”

“Okay, okay!” I laugh, holding my hands up in surrender. “I get it! I’m overreacting and being paranoid!”

Angela grins at me. “Just a little bit.”

“Alright, I’m done…I’m going to work and you guys’ll be fine. Bye-bye Jellybean.” I stoop down and kiss Holly’s forehead and wave goodbye as I head out.

Stepping into the shop, hearing the familiar jangle of the bell over the door, is like stepping back into my old life. I haven’t been here since _before_ …I push that thought away.

“Emmett!” Right away I know how happy Jonah is to see me, because he actually stops what he’s doing, tells his client to take a break, and comes out and hugs me. He barely stops to strip his gloves off. “Welcome back!”

I hug him back hard. Jonah has been my boss, mentor, and friend since I was eighteen years old and he’s seen me through a lot. “It’s good to see you.” I look around with pleasure at the familiar artwork hanging on the walls and all my things right where I left them. “You’re all ready for me then?”

“Yes indeed.” Jonah claps me on the back. “I’ll give you this week to get back into the swing of things and then you can take your apprentice back next week – lord knows I’m tired of holding his hand. Although he’s coming along, you’ll be pleased…you’ve sorted out your own childcare issues?”

“Yeah, it’s all set up and should work out. What did you book for me to do this afternoon?” I wander into my area, running a hand over the leather of the big chair and then cracking my knuckles. “You said it was something pretty basic?”

“Two women coming in together. One wanted her kids’ names, the other one something floral – said she’d pick out of the book. Easy.” Jonah glances at the clock. “They’ll be here soon, so I’ll leave you to get set up.”

Jonah moves back to his work station and I start getting my things ready, listening to the rock music that he has playing in the background and the low-voiced conversation between Jonah and his client. I can smell antiseptic and ink, and I can’t help but grin as I haul out the books of flash designs that my new client might want to choose from. _I’ve missed this._

Christa and Jenna are sisters, nervous and giggly about their first tattoos, and I take a while to sit with them on the sofa out front and talk about what they want. Jenna leafs through the book, and I write out Christa’s two daughters’ names in different styles for her to choose from. I make her recheck the spelling, and then check it again once I’ve made the stencil.

“The last thing you want is to have to change your kids’ birth certificate to match a misspelled tattoo,” I say cheerfully as I carefully apply the stencil to her shoulder blade. “And that’s what you’d have to do, because once this is on your skin that’s the way it’s going to stay. Okay…you’re happy with the placement? I’m good to go?”

Christa checks it out in the mirror and then settles into position, screwing her face up in last minute panic. “Oh my god, is this going to hurt so bad?”

“It might hurt a bit,” I say truthfully. “But it’s really not so bad, honestly. And you’ve had kids…nothing I’m going to do here has anything on childbirth!”

“And you’d know?!” Christa giggles, and I feel her relax a little under my hands.

“Well, not personally.” I laugh. “But I watched my wife do it, and I am pretty damn sure that my itty bitty needle in your skin doesn’t exactly rival a whole baby human exiting your body.” And I show her the photos of my kids pinned up on the wall and she tells me about hers as I ink their names permanently onto her body. I have to focus on what I’m doing, and for at least a short while I feel almost like the old me.


	26. Unfamiliar Familiar Territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed updating last week. I try not to, but I had computer issues (it’s in the shop getting fixed – I feel like I’m missing a limb) and general stress over everything kind of caught up with me. These are not good times. Although I suppose it could be worse for me personally – I could be Emmett. Anyway, I thought I’d just say thank you again to everyone for reading, and I hope you’re all safe and well and coping okay with these crazy times we’re living through.

My client has headphones on and breathes deeply and evenly as I fill in the scales on the tail of the dragon I’ve tattooed on his bicep. The colour is rich and vibrant, the linework strong, and I’m pleased with how well it’s coming together. I’m always happy to chat with clients when that’s what they want, but I don’t mind the quiet ones either. It’s easy to focus and I’m working fast, deep in the zone, when I’m interrupted by the ringing of my phone. I’d usually ignore it while I’m working but the ringtone is the special one I’ve set only for calls regarding the kids and I know it’s either Angela at home with the little ones or the school with the big ones.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

The client barely cracks an eyelid, and I yank off a glove and grab the phone. It’s the school. “Hey.”

“Emmett? It’s Leo Hyland. Have you got a minute?”

“I’m at work, but…what’s up? Are the kids okay?”

“They’re okay, but Mac had another meltdown and he’s had to be removed from the classroom. I was wondering if you’d be able to come down?” Leo sounds tired.

I bite back a few curse words and glance back at my client, mentally calculating how quickly I can finish this piece. “I’m in the middle of an appointment but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Maybe half an hour? Forty minutes? Will that work?”

“I’ll see you then.”

I hang up the phone and reach for a new pair of gloves, taking a deep breath to quell my irritation as I pick up the tattoo gun and check that I’m good to start up again. “Sorry for the interruption, it was my kids’ school. This is looking great though, there’s only about fifteen or twenty minutes left in it.”

“Kids, eh?” the client grunts.

“Yeah.” I get back to work, brooding over the situation I’m facing with Mac. Despite the frequent sessions he’s been having with the psychologist at school, despite all the kindness and attention from his kindergarten teacher, despite all the time that I – and Angela, and Carlisle and Esme and even Daisy – spend going over his homework with him, both his schoolwork and his behaviour are only getting worse. And my patience is starting to wear thin. I love him, and my heart hurts with the way he’s struggling, but the truth is I’m _tired._ I have six children I’m raising alone, I’m hustling at work, I haven’t slept through the night in weeks, and some days the emotional weight of my obstreperous and defiant six-year-old feels like more than I have strength for. I’m trying desperately to hold everyone together, and Mac’s seeming refusal to even _try_ is pushing me to the brink. I wish I had an answer.

I’m impatient to get to the school and deal with the issue, but I’ve got to finish the dragon first. I really like the piece and the client is also happy with it when I eventually declare I’m finished. I lotion and wrap it while we talk about incorporating some more background elements, and he says he’ll get back to me to book in another session once it’s healed and he’s got some more time. He tips well as he leaves, and then I go through my clean-up routine and head on out to the elementary school.

“Emmett, come in.” Leo shakes my hand and gestures for me to come into his office. “Thanks for coming down, I know it’s not convenient. I’ve got Liz Chapman to take Mac for now, so we can talk without him. His class has gym, so his teacher Vivi Allen is going to be along in a minute too.”

I take a reluctant seat in front of his desk and wait until he hangs up the phone from calling Mac’s teacher. “What did he do this time?”

“He had an outburst in class that ended in him throwing a book and hitting Vivi in the face,” Leo says with a sigh.

“Ahh, that’s…I’m sorry.” My teeth bite into my knuckles. “I feel really bad about this.”

I feel even worse a moment later when Vivi Allen comes into the room and I see the vivid red scratch on her chin where Mac’s caught her with the book. I like Mac’s teacher. She’s only first year out of college and looks about fourteen, which makes me feel really old, but she’s always positive and enthusiastic and really seems to love her job and the kids. Even my cranky little brat, who’s now paid her back by walloping her in the face with a book. “Crap, he really hurt you…I’m sorry.”

Vivi shakes her head. “It’s really nothing. I have the kind of skin that shows up every single little mark…don’t worry about me. What we need to worry about is Mac.”

“What set him off?”

Vivi looks anxious. “Reading assessments. I know he’s not up to grade level and he’s struggling, but they’re mandated and we have to do them… I don’t think I was too pushy with him? I really try and keep a positive attitude to encourage him, but…”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Leo says firmly. “You’ve been doing a great job, but Mac’s a challenging kid.” He glances across at me. “However, the situation can’t really go on like this and so I think we need to change our approach.”

I shrug, resigned. “What do you want to do?”

“I think he needs more help,” Leo says, opening a folder and flipping through some papers. “Both behaviourally and academically…he’s a bit much for Vivi to handle on her own in the classroom, and I think the combination of issues should qualify him for extra services. We need to dig a little deeper into what’s at the basis of his academic problems so, if you’re okay with this Emmett, we’ll look into getting a full educational assessment for a start. Vivi says she thinks there might be something specific that’s holding him back.”

“I’m not experienced enough to know _what_ ,” Vivi admits. “But when he started school he was so enthusiastic and keen to learn, and I thought we’d have a really good year. He’s clearly quite bright; his verbal skills and vocabulary are great, and he does very well with math concepts when we’re using manipulatives. He _should_ be doing well. But for some reason he’s not, and I think we need to try and find out why.”

“Our recommendation is to have Mac assessed by an educational psychologist. We can organise to do this through the school, or you can choose a private provider, it’s up to you. They might be able to determine the source of his difficulties, or refer him for further investigation. If it’s a specific learning disability causing Mac to struggle then having a diagnosis can be enormously helpful. Even if nothing definitive is found, the information gathered through the assessment process can offer us some ideas and suggestions on how best to teach him. Ideally, we’ll be able to use the educational assessments and some reports from Liz Chapman about Mac’s emotional and behavioural issues and develop an IEP for him. Perhaps even get some funding for some extra assistance; he’d probably do really well with a classroom aide able to dedicate some targeted, individual time to him.” Leo smiles at me sympathetically. “I know this is a lot to take in. It’s important to remember that none of it reflects on you as a parent, or Mac as a kid either. It’s just one of those things, and we have to do the best we can for him.”

“No, I get that. None of this is exactly unfamiliar territory for me.” I hesitate. “I’m dyslexic myself, so that might be…I guess it might be where you should start looking, with Mac.”

Leo leans back in his chair. “Oh, really? That’s interesting, dyslexia is highly hereditary and would explain a lot. It’s certainly something the educational psychologist will look at. When were you diagnosed?”

“Not until I was sixteen. I was in special ed classes after that and managed to graduate but…I’d rather Mac doesn’t have to go through what I did.” I smile wryly.

“Absolutely,” Leo nods. “And if that is what Mac’s dealing with, early intervention in a supportive environment can go a long way.”

“We’re only partway through his kindergarten year,” Vivi jumps in. “If someone can help me figure out how to teach him effectively, I’m sure he’ll do well. He’s smart, and I really do like him…I’m just sorry that he’s having such a hard time.”

“We really do need to address Mac’s academic issues, but we’re not going to ignore his emotional needs either. He’s been through a lot, and we really want to help him deal with that and see him back to the happy, confident kid he was at the start of the school year,” Leo says, eyeing me intently. “I’ve spoken to Liz Chapman again too. He’s been seeing her fairly regularly and she says that she thinks the two of them are making some progress, and she wants to continue working with him. And while today was bad – and I’ve had to write up a formal incident report unfortunately – Vivi here has said that there have been several good days where Mac has been happier and a bit more settled. How are things going at home?”

I pick at a spot of ink on my knuckles. “It’s been okay. I’ve gone back to work, so we’ve had to hire someone to look after the kids while I’m gone. Angela. She started a couple of weeks ago and looks after the babies during the day and the big kids after school. Mac likes her - and she’s actually really good at getting him through his homework, much better than I am – but it’s _another_ change for him to get used to, and he’s had his moments. I hope that this is it, that Angela is going to be around for the long term and our lives are going to find a new kind of normal, but I know it’s another adjustment for the kids.”

Leo nods. “That’s true, and Mac’s definitely had a lot of change to deal with in the past six months. Starting kindergarten in the first place, then losing his mother, having a new baby at home, different caregivers and…it’s a lot, and he’s a little boy. But kids are resilient.”

“I think the sooner we get him assessed and figure out what’s going on the better,” Vivi adds. “A lot of his negative classrooms behaviour seems to grow out of his stress over difficultly with the lessons. When it’s something he enjoys and feels confident with he’s a different kid – he’s an absolute delight in art class and gym! Interested, enthusiastic, happy to have a try at anything and puts in lots of effort…if I can find a way to make literacy skills more achievable for him I bet I’d get a lot more of _that_ Mac in the classroom.” She smiles at me, a little shyly. “I really like him, and I really want to do the best I can by him as his teacher.”

“He’s a great kid,” Leo says with a chuckle. “Everyone likes him! I know that it can be hard as a parent to hear about your child having difficulties like this, but you’ve got a lot to be proud of too.”

Vivi nods eagerly. “Exactly! Mac’s wonderful – he’s helpful in the classroom, he’s kind and inclusive to the other children, and he’s got a great imagination and can be really funny.”

“Mac’s got tremendous potential…we just need to work out how we can best help him achieve it,” Leo says. “To that end I’d like to get on with the assessments as soon as we can arrange it. Is that okay with you Emmett, or do you want to organise a private evaluation?”

“I think doing it here through school would be better. Less stress on Mac if it’s just a part of his school day, you know?”

“All right, we’ll arrange that asap. I’ll let you know when it’s going to be happening.” Leo writes on a post-it and sticks it to the front of the file. “Thank you for coming in so quickly, it’s always better to deal with these things as soon as possible. I’m sorry I had to call you at work though; you’ve gone back to it now?”

“Yeah. With Angela to look after the kids I’ve been able to start booking jobs again. My mom has been helping out a lot, but all day with the babies was a bit much for her in the long term.” I smile a little sheepishly. “Six kids is…uh, a lot. I’ve been limiting my work so far, to give everyone a chance to get used to the new routine, but so far it’s working out pretty well.”

“I’m glad you’re all doing okay,” Leo says. “As I’ve said before, the school is behind you a hundred percent and you just need to let us know if there’s anything we can do to help. Now the final bell is going to ring shortly – do you want to take Mac with you or should we put him on the bus like usual so you can go back to work?”

I don’t have to be back at work until the evening, so I figure I may as well save the kids the bus ride and they call Mac down from Liz Chapman’s office. He arrives a few moments later, dragging his backpack, and looking ashamed.

“Hi Daddy,” he mumbles, and then glances guiltily across at Vivi. “I’m sorry Miss Allen, I didn’t mean to hit you with that book. I won’t do it again.” His voice quivers.

She smiles at him. “It’s okay Mac, I know you didn’t mean it. Let’s have a better day tomorrow.”

Mac follows me outside and we sit on the bench by the entrance, waiting to waylay Noah and Daisy as they come out. He swings his feet, and I notice that he has a hole in the toe of one sneaker and his hair badly needs a cut and once again feel guilty for letting things go.

“Am I going to get in bad trouble?” he asks me.

“I’m not happy with you,” I say sternly. “And when it comes to school you are out of chances. I mean, you hurt your teacher! They could have chucked you out.”

Mac squirms guiltily. “I didn’t mean to. But I hate school and it makes me mad and I don’t want to come here anymore.”

“You have to go to school,” I sigh. “It’s the law.”

“But I hate it,” Mac says. “Can’t a get a job instead?”

I bite back a laugh. “There aren’t a lot of jobs going around for six year olds. I don’t think you’re even old enough for a paper route.”

“How old do I have to be?” Mac looks miserable.

I wrap an arm around his shoulder. “I used to hate school too,” I tell him. “And I was always getting sent to the principal’s office as well.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, a whole bunch of stuff. I was always acting up or losing my temper or not doing my homework…all kinds of things! See, I wasn’t very good at school work and I thought I’d rather be the bad kid than the dumb kid.” I bite my knuckles, remembering what it was like, and look down at my son.

Mac leans against me. “I’m dumb.”

The defeat in voice feels like a blow. “You’re not dumb,” I say softly. “I see how hard school is for you, especially reading, but that doesn’t mean you’re dumb.”

“I try really hard. I do! But the letters are all slippery and even when I try my hardest I can’t do it,” Mac mumbles.

“I know. I know exactly how that is…Daddy was never a good reader either.”

“But you can read. I mean, not as good as Mommy does with big books, but you can read all the sight words and do writing without spelling mistakes,” Mac says bluntly.

“Well yeah, but that’s because I’m a grown up and have been learning for years.” I grin at him and then say slowly. “But it did take me a long time. I have dyslexia, which is a thing where my brain doesn’t work the same way most other people’s brains do. It made learning to read really hard, and even though I can do it now it’s still not as easy for me as it was for Mommy, or Grandpa or Edward.”

“Or Noah,” Mac says glumly. “He’s getting his reading books from the first grade box now, he said so.”

“Reading is easy for Noah,” I agree. “And it’s hard for you. But that doesn’t mean you’re dumb, not at all. You might just be like me, and there might be a reason why you seem to be having extra trouble. Miss Allen and Mr Hyland and I were just talking about that, and we think we need to do a few tests to see if we can figure it out.”

“I don’t want to do more tests! I’ll get everything wrong!”

“It doesn’t matter though! The tests they want you to do aren’t right or wrong kind of tests…they’re different. The person who goes through them with you can use your answers to find out a bit about how your brain is working and if there’s a better way to teach you.” I give him another hug, listening to the final bell ring out across the school yard. “We just want to find a better way for you, Mac, that’s all. Now keep a look out when the kids are leaving – we want to catch Daisy and Noah before they jump on the bus.”

_We just want to find a better way for you…for all of us._


	27. Problems in Parenting

The school moves quickly to arrange testing for Mac, and a couple of weeks later I leave a clear afternoon for another meeting with his school. Once it’s over I collect Daisy from the gym and head home, pulling up to see Angela sitting on the porch with Holly while the boys play in the thin winter afternoon sunshine. Zeke and Bram are digging in the gravel on the driveway, and Mac and Noah are riding their bikes up and down the packed dirt hills we’d started making into a BMX track way back before we lost Rosalie. It’s just another thing that’s fallen by the wayside in the darkness, another thing that I’ve found it hard to care about in the face of loss. But watching their grins as they sail down one hill and up the other, and seeing Daisy sprint over to the porch to grab her bike and join her brothers, I promise myself that I’ll finish it off for them by the spring.

“How did the meeting go?” Angela asks as I approach.

I sit on the porch steps. Holly gives me a smile and I hold my hands out, snuggling her close for a moment after Angela hands her over. “Hey little jellybean.” I lay the baby on my thighs, tickling her dimpled cheeks until I’m rewarded with another sunny smile and a surprisingly hefty kick in the belly. I take hold of her feet and kiss her toes and then look back at Angela. “They had all his assessment results back and it all fits in with dyslexia. I mean, they hedged that – he’s very young, he hasn’t been at school long, emotional trauma can affect his learning, blah blah blah…but odds are that it’s at the root of his problems.” 

“I’m sorry,” Angela says sincerely. “It’s good that you got an answer, but…I’m sorry.”

“Yeah well,” I mutter wearily. “What are you going to do? It is what it is.”

There’s a long silence, before Angela says, “What _are_ you going to do? I mean, now that we know, what do we do about it?”

“There are ways to teach him, different approaches they can take…I don’t know.” I look down at Holly, who is concentrating fiercely on getting her own fingers into her mouth. “They kept telling me that there is loads they can do to help him. His teacher is only first year out of college and doesn’t have any experience with it so she’s going to work with the special education coordinator to develop some kind of education plan. At this point they want to keep him in his classroom, hopefully with an aide for part of the day, but there’s a lot of paperwork and things to organise. They’re going to do all that and then call another meeting about where we go from there. I don’t know, they talked so much about a whole lot of stuff and I didn’t really understand it all…”

My voice trails away, my heart aching as I once again stumble into the deep, bottomless longing for Rosalie. The sorrow that she’s gone, and a bitter, furious rage that I’m left to live this life and deal with everything alone.

Because she would be _better_ at this than me! If Rosalie were still here Mac would still be just as dyslexic, but she’d be here to deal with the professionals at school. She’d be able to understand all that jargon they talked, she’d be able to go online and read the research and find the best and most up to date methods of teaching him, she’d be a knowledgeable and active part of formulating a plan and helping Mac be the best he can be and achieve the most he is capable of…she’d be everything that I can’t be.

“It sounds like the school are going to do the right things for him,” Angela says. “It’s great that they’re being so proactive.”

“Yeah, I guess. But…damn, doesn’t the kid have enough to deal with already? I know all too fucking well what this is going to be like for him, and it’s shitty! Sure, they can find other ways to teach him and he can learn, but…it’s always going to be difficult and he’s always going to have to work harder than the kid next to him to get anywhere near the same result.”

“Is that why you were in special ed classes when we were in high school?” Angela asks a little hesitantly. “Do you have dyslexia?”

“Yeah. I was diagnosed when I was sixteen and apparently my dad – my bio dad, obviously, not Carlisle – has it as well. So Mac having problems doesn’t exactly come out of nowhere. But I don’t know that that makes it any easier,” I finish softly.

Angela hugs her knees. “It’s sometimes harder to watch our kids struggle with something than it is to deal with it ourselves. And seeing our own…I don’t know…flaws? issues maybe?...reflected to us in them isn’t easy either.” She smiles ruefully. “I was the most fearful little kid, wildly over-imaginative, always anxious and terrified about all kinds of things. I grew out of it – mostly – and then I had Micah and he was exactly the same. Afraid of the dark, afraid of monsters under the bed, afraid of strangers and thunder and scary dreams and loud noises and costumes and masks …can you imagine what he was like on Halloween?! Of course I loved him and did whatever I could to be patient and understanding and teach him to be brave, but it was sometimes really hard to see something I’d worked so hard to defeat in myself being such a big thing for my son.”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “That’s the worst part of it. I see myself in him, and feel like…it’s all my fault. It’s my fault, but Mac’s the one who’s going to suffer for it.”

“It’s not your fault though; you can’t think of it in that way. Mac’s just who he is and that’s that. And he won’t struggle in the same ways you did, because you’re here to guide him and make sure he doesn’t,” Angela says. “Mac’s dyslexia is being recognised and addressed ten years earlier than yours was, and that’s going to make a massive difference. You can lean on the school to make sure he gets all the services he needs from now in kindergarten all the way through to his senior year if necessary. You’re in the perfect position to help him because you really understand what it’s like.”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” I say with a half-hearted laugh.

There’s a long silence before Angela sighs and says reluctantly, “Well, I don’t want to add to your stress, but I need to talk to you about Noah too.”

“What about him?”

“A note came home from school about head lice in the kindergarten room and…”

“Oh, not that shit again!” I burst out. “Daisy had lice about five fucking times last year, it was like some kind of Biblical plague! Well, there’s about half of an industrial sized container of lice killing shampoo left in the basement, I’ll go down and get it…”

“No, no, he doesn’t have lice!” Angela interrupts. “I checked, and I didn’t find any sign of lice or nits, but what I did find is…you know how he pulls on his hair when he gets anxious? Well, it’s worse than that - he’s pulling it out.”

“What?” 

“He’s got some bald patches. I’d never noticed because the longer hair on top covers it up, but I couldn’t miss them once I was combing through it looking for lice. It’s actually pretty bad.” She bites her lip. “Did you know?”

“No.” I say shortly. “He washes and brushes his own hair, so…Noah!” I yell across the yard. “Come here for a minute!”

He rides his bike over, braking hard and grinning at me breathlessly. “Did you see me going over the bumps?”

“Yeah, you’re doing good. We’ll have to try and finish the track once spring comes round. Can I have a look at your hair?”

A flash of unease crosses his face, but he drops his bike by the steps and unclips his helmet. “How come?”

“Angela said she checked you for lice…I want to check too.”

“Okay.” Noah swings his helmet by the strap and bends over the baby lying on my lap. “Hi Holly-Golly-Lolly.”

Noah inherited Rosalie’s hair, the thick, silky mane made up of a hundred different shades of blonde mixed together to form a rich gold, as beautiful to touch as to look at. But I’m not thinking about Rosalie now, as I comb through his slightly sweaty locks. Noah’s hair is overdue for a cut, and the extra length and fullness has contributed to concealing the areas of pink skinned scalp above and behind his ear that he’s plucked bald.

“Do I have lice?” Noah twists to look up at me. “I hate that shampoo.”

I swallow hard. “No, you don’t have lice. But you…did you know that you’ve been pulling your hair out?” I run my fingers gently through his hair, over the patches of bare skin. “Here, and here…”

“Well, sometimes hair falls out,” Noah mumbles evasively.

“Yeah…but not usually enough to make you bald. Not when you’re six.”

Noah’s lip trembles. “I didn’t mean to.”

I pull him closer in a hug. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just…I want to understand what’s going on. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, and it must have hurt to have pulled out so much hair.”

“I don’t know.” Noah tries to climb on to my lap, and I hastily pass Holly over to Angela to make room for him on my thighs. “I don’t mean to. Sometimes my hair just comes out in my hand. And sometimes it hurts, but then I stop.”

I wrap my arms around him. “So, you’re not doing it on purpose?”

“No.” Noah shakes his head. “I don’t want to be bald! It just happens all by itself.” Even as he’s talking I see his hand rise as he unconsciously reaches towards his hair.

I close my fist around it and see the lumps and scars marking my knuckles, the result of the compulsive, anxious chewing I’ve been doing for most of my life. My heart aches. “Okay buddy,” I say, deliberately casual. “I’ll have to think about this one…you can go back and ride your bike again.”

Noah clamps his helmet back onto his head and grabs his bike, racing across the driveway and back towards Mac and the BMX track. I watch him go for a moment, and then drop my head into my hands.

_This is too hard._

“It’ll be okay.” Angela scoots across the porch until she’s sitting on the step beside me, and her shoulder bumps against mine. “Noah will be okay.”

I shake my head. “He’s six years old and he’s balding!”

“Hair grows back.” Angela smiles at me sympathetically. “I know it’s a shock though, I was pretty taken aback when I discovered it. I’d noticed that he tugs on his hair when he gets a bit anxious, but I had no idea he was taking it to this extent. But I googled hair pulling and hair loss in kids just before, and hopefully we can help him. It’s a new thing, isn’t it? I mean, he’s never done this before?”

“No, not like this,” I say. “As you said, he’s always had a habit of yanking on his hair, but he certainly wasn’t doing it this hard and this often until…since Rosalie died.”

Angela nods. “You should call your dad and get him to check Noah out, but it’s probably an anxiety thing. Catching it early probably gives you a better chance to break the habit and replace it with a less damaging way of dealing with his distress.”

I fish my phone out of my pocket and call Carlisle, reaching his message bank. “Hey Doctor Carlisle,” I say, striving for lightness. “I was wondering if you’d be able to make a house call today? I want you to take a look at Noah. He’s…well, I’ll explain when you’re here. He’s all right, but I need to talk to you.”

“It’s nice that your dad is a doctor,” Angela says. “Pretty convenient when you need one!”

I laugh raggedly. “Yeah, it’s good at times…all those mystery rashes that could be heat or could be meningitis, and the is-this-a-cough-or-is-this-tuberculosis dilemma that always seems to happen at 3am are much easier to deal with when you’ve got a paediatrician dad on call.”

Angela giggles. “My dad had a line on praying for my kiddo’s immortal soul and he cut me a great deal on a christening, but a doctor would have been a bit more helpful I think!” She sighs wistfully.

“You sound like you miss him,” I say.

“I miss them all!” she says with feeling. “My dad, Micah, my mom; she’s still here, but she’s not _really_ here, if you know what I mean. And even Patrick…”

“You’ve lost a lot of people,” I say, adding cautiously, “Is Patrick Micah’s dad? You’ve never mentioned him.” Angela and I have talked a lot during the weeks she’s been here, but mostly about the kids and food and household routines. This feels a lot more personal.

“Yes. My ex-husband.” Angela is watching Bram and Zeke digging in the gravel, not looking at me. “The accident where Micah died…Patrick was driving. He broke his spine and leg and had a head injury, but he survived. The accident wasn’t really his fault, but you know what grief is like – unfair or not I blamed him for his part in it and resented him for surviving when Micah didn’t. I shouldn’t have…but I did. Our marriage was doomed from that point.”

“You don’t keep in touch at all?”

She shakes her head. “Not anymore. It’s hard sometimes, because without Patrick in my life I don’t have that very real link with my memories of Micah either. But there was too much bitterness and anger and hurt…we’re better apart and we’ve both moved on in our own ways. But there are still days when…well, you know how it is.” Angela pushes her glasses up on her nose and smiles at me tiredly. “Sorry. I guess I’m just having a bad day.”

“It happens,” I shrug. “And you have reasons. You lost your kid, and your husband as well in the end. Then your dad, and your mom - that’s a lot of loss, and it sucks. You don’t get over that in a week, or a month…or even a lifetime.” I grimace. “I guess I’m not cheering you up all that much, sorry!”

Angela chuckles ruefully and snuggles Holly a little closer. “That’s okay. I’m okay really. It never goes away of course, but for the most part I’ve accepted things and I’m at a stage where it’s…well, not happy, there is still so much sadness, but…peace? To an extent?”

“I wish I was there,” I say morosely. “But I can’t…I hate the way I am. I hate the way I feel.”

_The anger. The rage. The furious resentment of what my life has become and the obsession over the injustice of it all. The loneliness, because I lost my best friend and no one can fill the hole that her absence leaves in my life. The bitterness because the love that lit up my world and warmed my heart now brings only pain. The howling, bottomless well of loss and grief and longing, and the sorrow that cuts like a knife and never, ever, seems to end…_

_It’s changed who I am. Sometimes I don’t even recognise this version of myself, this resentful, morose, embittered person who weeps more than they laugh. This was never me._

Angela has lost just as much though. She’s been through a similar hell and she’s still going. Sitting on the porch in the winter sunlight and holding my daughter she offers me her strength, and the glimmer of hope that a future is possible. That one day, I won’t feel this way.

“It gets easier,” she says, like she’s reading my mind. “Eventually. You won’t ever be the same…but you’ll find a way to live with it easier.”

I look at her curiously. “Does it help? Being here with my kids, taking this job…has it helped? Or is it harder?”

Angela taps her lip thoughtfully. “It’s…kind of both? There’s so much about taking care of them that reminds me of being Micah’s mom, and that brings up a lot of memories of when I was a mommy, and I miss that so much. That’s sometimes hard. At the same time, I really do love taking care of kids. It’s hard work, but they’re so sweet and funny and interesting that it’s really rewarding. I like being busy, and I like being needed. And your kids…they need someone. I know that what I’m doing here is worthwhile.” She shoots me a quick look. “That’s nothing against you. You’re a great dad, and those kids are so lucky to have you. Really. I mean, I know what they’ve all lost and it’s staggering, but you’re holding their world together in a really extraordinary way.”

“It never feels like enough though.” I gaze across the yard at the boys. “And it’s stupid, because Holly and the little twins don’t even really realise what’s going on and are basically unaffected by it and I hate that almost as much as seeing the big kids being so affected by it that they’re acting out! There’s just no way to win. Holly doesn’t even know that she has a mother to miss, and on the other hand Noah’s plucking his head bald with the stress.”

“Poor Noah,” Angela signs. “He’s the most like Micah. He’s older than Micah ever was, but the way he’s so quiet and sweet and serious really reminds me of him…I think that’s probably why I’m a bit down today. Seeing what he’s doing to himself and realising how deep his anxiety goes is hard to take.”

“You said you googled it- any ideas what we can do?” I ask.

“Well obviously anything we can do to lessen his anxiety is going to help. Distraction and redirection if we see him pulling. Apparently some people wear gloves, or band aids on their fingers, to make it harder to grip their hair. And it’s a pretty extreme option, but you could always clip his hair really short to stop him pulling on it out of habit.”

“He has Rosalie’s hair,” I say quietly, and after that we sit there in silence, watching the kids play as the shadows lengthen. 


	28. Haircut

“It’s called trichotillomania,” Carlisle says, combing through Noah’s hair and examining his scalp under the bright bathroom lights. “It’s an impulse control disorder, where people who have the condition feel a compulsive urge to pull out their own hair.”

Noah, sitting on the counter and trying to listen to his own heart with Carlisle’s stethoscope, looks up in sudden terror. “Am I sick? Am I going to die like Mommy?”

“No,” Carlisle says firmly, taking his stethoscope out of Noah’s ears and kissing his forehead. “You are not sick, and you are most definitely not going to die.” He tilts Noah’s head slightly and parts his hair, angling the hand mirror so he can see the reflection of his head in the cabinet mirror behind him. “You’re just missing some hair…can you see that?”

Noah reaches up and tentatively touches his head. “Oh…” His lower lip trembles. “Will it ever come back?”

Carlisle rubs a gentle fingertip over one of the naked patches of Noah’s scalp. “It should all grow back if you give it time; I can already feel little fuzzy hairs coming in. Now here’s my stethoscope again, so you can listen to your heart and your rumbling belly.”

I frown. “So it’s not really serious then?”

Carlisle straightens up and says quietly to me, “His hair will grow back. Repeated pulling can damage the hair follicles and affect regrowth, but this is a very new thing for Noah and I don’t think we’re at that point. There’s no irritation or infection in the skin. The psychological impact can be worse than the physical – we want to stop Noah doing this, but we need to be careful not to make him feel shamed or anxious about it…any more than he might already.”

“How do I do that?” I clear my throat. “I don’t think he even realises he’s doing it half the time.”

“I looked it up,” Angela speaks up from the doorway. “Distraction and redirection? Remind him not to if we see him pulling and maybe give him something else to twiddle with instead of his hair? Cut it short?”

Carlisle smiles at her. “All of that sounds good. Probably the most important thing we can do is continue to work on his anxiety levels the way we’re already doing, with the counsellor at school and maintaining a supportive environment here at home.”

“You think I should cut his hair?” I’m relieved that my voice stays steady, despite the twisting in my gut. _He has the same hair as Rosalie._

“I’d think about it.” Carlisle strokes Noah’s head. “It’s not always the first step, a lot of people are reluctant to lose what hair they have left and don’t want to draw attention to their problem, but Noah’s a little boy and short hair isn’t going to inspire any questions. Using the clippers will stop him from being able to pull it out unconsciously, and we might be able to break the habit.” He glances at me. “But only if it’s what you and Noah want to do. We can always keep it as an option for later.” 

I nod, and gently take the stethoscope out of Noah’s ears. “Okay buddy, we need to talk about this. You have to stop pulling your hair out, yeah? No one’s mad at you,” I go on quickly. “We know you don’t mean to do it, and it’s not really a big deal. But we want you to stop.”

“I promise I’ll try,” Noah says, a little doubtfully. “But sometimes I really don’t even know that I’m doing it until my fingers are all twisted up with hair.”

“We can all help you to remember,” Carlisle says. “Daddy and Angela can remind you when you’re at home, and we can talk to your teacher so he can help you remember at school too. Would that be okay?”

“And we can cut your hair,” I say. “Use the clippers so that it’s really short, too short to wind around your fingers and pull out that way…but only if you want to.”

Noah reflexively curls his finger into his hair, and then yanks it free with a guilty look. “I don’t _mind_ getting my hair cut,” he says cautiously. “But what if it looks stupid? What if everyone laughs at me for having a dumb haircut?”

“No one will laugh at you – it’ll look great.” I reach into the cupboard under the sink and dig out the box holding the set of clippers. “I used to shave my head for a while when you were a baby. It was good, I never had to brush my hair and I saved loads of money on shampoo. Not mention I looked wicked cool.” I grin at Noah and plug the clippers in. “Want me to show you? You can shave my head and then I’ll do yours, so we match. No one’s going to be laughing at the two of us.”

Noah giggles and nods eagerly, and I switch on the blades and shave a random stripe across my head. _Sorry Rosalie._ She hadn’t liked my shaved head, said it made me look like I’d just escaped from prison, and eventually I’d given it up for the joys of having her hands in my hair during sex. But that’s not an issue now, and I push the thoughts away and run the clippers down the other side of my head. “Like this?”

“No! You look like Krusty the Clown!” Noah laughs hysterically.

“Okay, okay, I don’t want that…help me even it up.”

Noah does his best, and then Carlisle steps in and tidies everything up and when we’re done my curls are on the floor and I’m left with an eighth of an inch of stubble covering my head. And Rosalie was right – I _do_ look like I belong in a jail cell. But Noah’s laughing and clamouring for his turn, and then his fair hair drifts down to join my dark locks on the tiles as I run the clippers carefully over his head.

I don’t let him see my face while I do it.

“There,” I say at last, smoothing my hand over his shorn head to make sure I haven’t missed anything. “All done. And you look awesome.”

He looks beautiful, but at six years old he doesn’t want to hear that. I’m actually a little taken aback at how different he looks. Noah inherited Rosalie’s bone structure and the short haircut emphasises his high cheekbones, heavy-lashed blue eyes and strong jawline. He lost his two top front teeth just after Christmas and the adult teeth that have grown in since then have changed his face. He looks older than I think of him as. When was the last time I really looked at him? Have I been so focussed on my own misery that I’ve forgotten to pay attention?

Noah twists around to look at himself in the mirror, rubbing his hands over what’s left of his hair. “It feels nice. Like a cat,” he comments, and then frowns as he catches sight of the bare, uneven growth where he’s been pulling it. “You can see the bald parts.”

“Yeah, a little bit,” I say, unwilling to lie to him. “But I don’t think anyone will say anything to you, even if they notice. And since the rest of your hair is so short now, the new hair will grow in and catch up really quick.”

“You could wear a hat anyway. I’ll lend you my Pokemon beanie if you want.” Mac squirms past Angela in the doorway and squints at his brother’s head. “Yikes. Did you really make those bald patches yourself? You’re gonna look like Grandpa Jack if you don’t stop.”

I snort and lift Noah down off the counter. “I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet! Now get out of here so I can clean up all this hair.”

Noah and Mac follow Angela out of the room and Carlisle disappears too, returning with a dustpan and brush a few moments later, as I kneel on the floor and sweep up drifts of hair with my bare hands.

“You did a good thing there,” Carlisle says quietly, brushing a hand across my head. “I think cutting his hair was for the best and you made it fun, so well done.”

I shrug, throwing handfuls of hair into the trash. “What else am I going to do?” I sigh as I run my hands through my stubble and eye myself in the mirror. “I don’t care what I look like. Although I’ve got to say it’s a cold time of year to be almost bald…maybe I’ll have to borrow Mac’s Pokemon beanie too?”

__________________________________________________

I drive the kids to school in the morning. Noah’s had an attack of shyness over his hair and refuses to take off the Pokemon beanie even in the tub, and I want to explain the situation to his teacher.

Getting to school on time with all the kids is an ordeal though. Diapers, bottles, breakfast, repeat diapers, clean clothes, pigtails, teeth cleaning, finding library books and sneakers and art smocks and homework, packing school bags and diaper bags, and buckling six kids into the van…I’d be tearing my own hair out by the time I’m unloading them all in the school parking lot if it were long enough to grip.

“Good morning Mr Hale-Cullen!” Noah’s teacher turns away from writing on the whiteboard and smiles as Noah pushes the classroom door open. Unlike Mac’s new graduate teacher, Mr Cohen is so old he was probably teaching kindergarten here when Rosalie and Edward were attending. “Ready for another day of academic adventures, I hope! And you’ve bought the junior Mr Hale-Cullens with you I see, you feel they’re ready to learn their ABCs?”

I don’t know about that. Bram makes a beeline for the boxes of markers lined up on a supply trolley and Zeke heads straight for a box of scissors, so I think causing chaos is more on their minds than learning. I quickly step in front of them and distract them by pointing out the lizard tank at the back of the room.

“My brothers are only one year old,” Noah tells his teacher seriously. “I don’t think they can be in kindergarten yet, because they don’t know how to sit still and they can only say about four words. But my dad wants to talk to you.” He clings to my hand.

“Of course.” Mr Cohen shakes my hand. “We have a little time before the first bell. Shall we take a seat?”

I’m six and a half feet tall – my ass really does not fit on a little plastic kindergarten sized chair. Having a baby strapped to the front of me in a baby carrier doesn’t make it any easier. But I perch awkwardly on the seat beside Noah and keep my hands firmly in my lap and my knuckles out of my mouth as his teacher sits across from us and looks at me expectantly.

“We just wanted to talk to you because Noah…uh, you might have noticed, the way he kind of…pulls on his hair? Like when he gets nervous, or sometimes when he’s concentrating or bored or not really paying attention to what he’s doing?” I wait until his teacher nods before I go on. “We realised yesterday that he’s been doing it a bit too much. He’s starting to pull the hair out and there are some pretty thin patches.”

Mr Cohen nods thoughtfully. “I see.”

“We asked my dad about it, since he’s a paediatrician. He checked Noah out and said it’s fine – I mean, obviously we don’t want him to do it, but it’s not a disease, or a super unusual thing or anything. It’s got a name, what he’s doing…but anyway. We’re just trying to figure out how to help him stop it.”

Noah fiddles uncomfortably with the edge of his beanie. “I don’t mean to.”

“We know.” I rub his shoulder, and look across at his teacher. “We cut his hair last night, so it’s too short for him to wind around his fingers. And Noah and I made a deal that he’ll try and stop pulling, and I’ll remind him if I see him doing it. We wanted to ask if you would do the same thing at school. Not make a big deal out of it, just…remind him.”

“Of course I will,” Mr Cohen smiles gently at Noah. “Perhaps just a little signal? I could tap you on the shoulder when I’m walking past you if I see you having your fingers in your hair? Or if I’m not close to you I could touch my own hair?” He rubs a hand over his bald head and Noah giggles. “Does that sound like it might work?”

Noah nods. “Maybe.” He hesitates for a moment and then draws his beanie off. “My hair is really short now, see? Grandpa and my dad said that might be good because that makes it hard to pull out, even if I’m trying to.”

“It’s certainly a very handsome look on you,” Mr Cohen says gravely. “And hopefully Grandpa and Dad will be right. You probably would prefer not to have my hairdo!” He makes a face and once again Noah laughs.

“Daddy did his hair with the clippers too, so now we’re matching…it feels like a cat.” He clambers onto my lap, careful not to squash Holly too much, and pets my hair. “See?”

Mr Cohen smiles. “Well, Daddy looks equally handsome. Now Noah, your young brothers look quite intrigued by the bearded dragons in the back there. Would you like to show them how they eat crickets? They might find that rather interesting.”

Noah jumps off my lap and eagerly heads towards the twins, who are leaning against the glass enclosure at the back of the room and babbling to the two lizards inside it. He leaves the beanie on the table in front of me and I pick it up, glad to have something to do with my hands that isn’t biting on my knuckles. God knows that after everything that’s happened I’m getting used to having conferences with the kids’ teachers, but I spent too many years as the screw-up student in these situations to find it comfortable now.

“Thanks,” I say to his teacher, dropping my voice a little. “It’s not too bad really. You can see the bald patches when you’re close to him, but they’re not huge and because his hair is so fair they don’t stand out as much as they might otherwise. And he hasn’t been doing it a long time, just since…but of course we want him to stop doing it before it becomes a big problem. So we wanted to let you know what was going on, and ask if you can help us out and also make sure none of the other kids give him a hard time.”

“I’m glad you told me, and I’ll keep an eye on it. Am I correct in assuming that this is related to his anxiety? I’ve been aware for some time that Noah is a very anxious child; I was pleased when he began seeing Ms Chapman regularly.”

I nod. “Yeah, we think so. I mean, it’s complicated, there can be a whole lot that goes into this behaviour but with Noah…we want to work on breaking him of what’s just habit, and keep on dealing with the anxiety. He’s seeing Liz Chapman and I’m trying to…we’re just trying to keep it all going,” I finish a little lamely.

“Ms Chapman is an excellent counsellor; Noah is in very good hands with her,” Mr Cohen says. “She and I have discussed several strategies for helping children deal with anxiety, and I’ve begun using a meditation and calm app specifically for children in the classroom too. Not solely for Noah of course, everyone benefits when attention is paid to mental health, but he was one of the students I had in mind when I implemented it. It’s a simple meditation aimed at young children that teaches them some body awareness and relaxation skills. The children are really responding well, they enjoy it a lot and it’s having a good effect on the general classroom environment. I can give you the name of it and you can download it at home too, it might be something you find useful.”

“That sounds good. I really don’t like…he worries way too much for a little kid,” I say.

Mr Cohen looks over at Noah, feeding crickets to the two bearded dragons in front of a fascinated Bram and Zeke, and smiles. “Anxiety is not uncommon in highly intelligent and sensitive children like Noah. Your son is an extremely bright child Mr Cullen. He learns quickly, and he is capable of a level of complex and abstract thought that’s very unusual for his age.”

“He takes after his mom,” I say, horrified to hear my voice crack. “She is… _was_ …the one with brains.”

“If she was anything like Noah, she must have been very special.” Mr Cohen tactfully doesn’t look at me as I drop my face and breathe in the sweet scent of Holly’s hair to centre myself. “Noah is certainly exceptional, and he’s been an absolute pleasure to teach this year. I know you’ve been having a very difficult time of it, but when it comes to your children Mr Cullen, you have also been doing a very good job and you should be proud.”


	29. The Gymnastics Meet

“Oww! You’re _hurting_ me!” Daisy squirms on the chair in front of me.

“Hold still!” A hank of Daisy’s hair slips through my fingers as I try and pull the recalcitrant strands back into the high ponytail she wants. “Damnit!”

“You keep pulling! It’s too tight!”

“It has to be tight or it’ll fall out,” I snap, gathering up the dropped hair and attempting to smooth it back in to place.

“You said Alice would be here to do my hair. She knows how to do it,” Daisy sniffs tragically.

“She was going to be here – their flight was delayed. But she and Jasper will be at the gym to watch you. And please try and cut me some slack. I’m doing the best I can here!” I wrap the elastic band around the ponytail and step back.

“It’s all lumpy and bumpy!” Daisy says hysterically, running her hands frantically over her head. “I can feel it! You did it all wrong…it’s terrible!”

I fling my hands up in frustration. “Well, I’m not a hairdresser! I can try again, but…”

“No! You’re horrible at doing hair!” Daisy bursts into tears and runs out of the room.

I briefly consider strangling her with her own (crappy) ponytail. But there’s a big gymnastics meet on today and she’s nervous, and I have to admit she’s also not completely wrong about my hairdressing skills. A basic pigtail, a plait? Got it down. The perfect bun she wants for her gymnastics meet? Not so much. I’ve watched enough YouTube tutorials that I can recite the instructions in my sleep, but somehow actually _doing_ it never seems to work out quite so well.

“Dad, can I have some more toast?” Noah trails into the kitchen holding a crumb covered plate and his Banky.

“What? No, we’ve got to go.” I look at him in consternation, realising he’s still in his pyjamas. “You’re supposed to be dressed!”

“But I’m still hungry,” he whines.

“You can eat a piece of fruit in the car, just go and get dressed!” A blood curdling scream rings out, and I leave Noah staring sulkily at the fruit bowl and bolt into the living room to see what the latest crisis is.

Bram and Zeke are a squalling pile of infuriated toddler as they fight over a toy car that looks no different to the other four hundred cars scattered across the rug. Zeke manages to yank it away as I reach for them, and then with a frustrated shriek Bram wrestles him back to the ground and sinks his teeth in.

“Bram, no!” In the sudden silence I haul him away and gather up Zeke, whose eyes are just about bugging out of his head in agony and whose mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish as he tries to draw in enough breath to scream. When he finally lets go it sounds like a train whistle. Not that I blame him. Bram might only have nine – no, actually ten now - teeth, but the outline of every single one of them is imprinted deeply into the soft flesh of his brother’s rosy cheek. “Fucking hell!”

I carry the screaming baby into the bathroom and grab a face washer, soaking it in cold water and holding it to his face. This is not the first time this has happened. In the last couple of weeks they’ve both discovered the power of teeth – and not in a good way. Bram has bruises on his back from where Zeke attacked him in the bath, and the teeth marks now imprinted on Zeke’s cheek are joining several similar marks on his plump little arms.

“No!” I say sternly to Bram, who has followed me in and is wailing too. “You’ve got to stop doing that!”

Bram keeps howling and grabbing at my jeans, and eventually I relent and sit down on the step stool and let him climb up onto my lap. I know they’re too young to really understand what they’re doing. And even if they’re the one that caused it, seeing their brother distressed always leads to an equal level of upset for the other one.

“This is crazy,” I mutter, peeling the face washer off and inspecting Zeke’s wounds as his sobs start dying down. The tooth marks are dark purple, but I don’t think the skin is broken. “You look like you’ve been attacked by a rabid dog…am I supposed to muzzle you both?”

“Daddy!” Daisy appears in the doorway, her face blotchy with crying and her hair still hanging loose down her back. “No one is ready and we have to GO. I’m going to be late!”

“We’re not…oh shit!” I push the little twins off my lap and clamber to my feet. “Noah, are you dressed yet? Mac? We’ve got to go!” I hurry into the living room and switch off the tv, hustling both big boys up the stairs despite their complaints. “Come on, come on…I don’t care, just get dressed!”

“Holly smells. And Bram and Zeke are still in the bathroom and they’re pulling out all the tissues and making a giant mess.” Daisy follows me around whining. “Daddddyyyy…I’m going to miss the warm ups…”

“Daisy-bug, you’re really not helping,” I say through gritted teeth, dragging the two giggling toddlers out of the bathroom where they’re flinging handfuls of tissues up in the air and laughing hysterically. “Get your gym bag ready or do some warm ups or something.”

“My bag’s ready,” Daisy scowls. “I’m ALL ready, except for my hair which is a MESS because YOU can’t do good hair…”

“Fine, fine, I suck, we all know that…pick up the tissues for me then, while I get everything else ready!”

Without waiting for any more complaints or accusations I leave Daisy standing ankle deep in drifts of Kleenex and drag the two little twins into their room for clean diapers and sweaters. “There you are, go and try not to get into trouble, or eat each other for five minutes…Mac! Noah! Are you ready?” I yell up the stairs as I go to the kitchen, swearing at myself as I realise that there aren’t any bottles made up in the fridge. I grab some clean ones out of the dishwasher and start packing up the diaper bag, then change Holly’s diaper, shouting at Mac and Noah to get on their sneakers and find coats. By the time I’ve got everyone packed into the car we’re running at least twenty minutes behind and Daisy is practically hysterical.

“I’ll drop you off out front,” I tell her. “Run in and ask someone to do your hair, I’ll find a parking space and then we’ll be in to watch you.”

Daisy sniffs and wipes her eyes on her sleeve, and I wish I could just drop her off and go home for a nap. It’s not going to happen though, so I simply stop the van at the front of the gym so that Daisy can jump out. I have to drive two blocks away before I find a parking space. I then attach Holly to my front in the baby carrier, strap the little twins into the double stroller, fill the basket with diaper bags and snacks and toys, and drag the whole lot into the gym while Mac and Noah trail along behind me asking can they get candy and what about a coke and will they get to play on anything and why did we even have to come anyway? We eventually get to the gym and search until we find a seat over to the side where there’s space to park the stroller, and where I’m somehow going to have to keep the whole circus quiet and contained for the hours the gymnastics meet will take and somehow still manage to watch Daisy do each event with enough focus that I’ll be able to talk to her about her performances when it’s all done.

_Some days I really hate my life._

At least Holly is asleep on my chest by the time we’re settled in. She’s lost a sock somewhere between the car and our seat and I dig through the bag until I find another one to cover her cold toes. I hand apples to the two little boys to keep them quiet and happy in the stroller for as long as possible, tell Mac and Noah that there isn’t any candy and if they’re hungry they can have fruit too and stop complaining, and then scan the room for Daisy. I eventually find her on the sidelines, her coach briskly pulling her hair up into a perfect bun and then gluing it in place with a generous spray of the glitter hairspray that all the girls are so keen on. She sees me looking at her and waves and blows kisses, obviously having forgiven me for the disaster of the morning and getting her here late. I give her a thumbs up and I slump back onto my seat with a sigh.

“Emmett, there you are! Where’s Daisy? Did we miss her?” Alice, talking a million miles an hour, appears at my shoulder and wraps me in a strangling hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you all! Sorry we’re so late, the flight…and we had trouble with the hire car and then we had to park absolutely miles away, why don’t you go to a gym that has parking? And…oh my god, what happened to that baby’s face?”

“Hey you.” I hug her back, and nod to Jasper as he leans against the wall beside the stroller. “It’s all right, Daisy hasn’t started yet. You’re just in time– she’s in the line up over by the beam.”

“Oh, there she is…you finally figured out how to do her hair, good job. Go Daisy!” Alice shouts, waving frantically.

Daisy sees her and waves back, jumping up and down and grinning. She looks happy and confident as she salutes the judges and uses the springboard to mount the beam, but she’s having an off day and falls twice and then stumbles back several steps on her dismount. Even from the stands I can see the way her brows lower in fierce disappointment with herself, but she shrugs it off and skips off to the mat for a hug from her coach.

“That’s too bad,” Alice says. “She started so well.” She reaches out and unstraps Zeke from the stroller, lifting him onto her lap and blowing raspberries into his neck to make him giggle. “What happened to you, kiddo?”

“He and Bram keep biting each other,” I say, unsnapping Bram who isn’t happy to be trapped in the stroller while his brother is free. “I’m really glad you could make it.”

I swing Bram onto my lap, hearing Holly’s sleepy protesting squeak from in between us as he knees her in the back. He stands on my thighs and babbles into my face, then looks past me with a smile. “An-ya!” 

I swing my head around and see Angela approaching. “He said your name!” I say in surprise. “Or at least made a pretty good attempt. Did you hear that?”

Angela’s face curves into a delighted grin. “I did! I thought maybe I heard him say it the other day, but I wasn’t sure…that was so clear though!” She leans forward and kisses Bram’s cheek. “Hi munchkin.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say.

“Daisy asked me to…is that okay?” Angela glances over at Alice and Jasper and looks suddenly uncertain. “I don’t want to barge in on your family time or anything.”

“No no, I didn’t mean that!” I say hastily.

The truth is I’m relieved to see her. I’ve got an infant, two toddlers and two six-year-olds that I’m supposed to keep corralled, quiet and content for the next few hours and the more hands I have on deck to help me the better. Holly can’t go anywhere, but she’s still going to need feeding, changing and rocking back to sleep. Bram and Zeke need all that too, plus they’re at an age where they’re nothing but a liability to take out in public. I take my eyes off them for second and they’re either running away or licking the floor or pickpocketing or something equally unsociable. Noah and Mac aren’t quite as bad but they can’t really be left to their own devices. Without people to help me I can’t even go and pee. Between Alice, Jasper and Angela (and Esme when she arrives) I might even be able to actually watch Daisy, which is what I’ve ostensibly come here to do.

“The more the merrier…I’m glad you came,” I say. “I could have given you a ride or something. Well actually, probably not, this morning was a complete shit-fest and we were late…” Bram is stretching his arms towards Angela, and when she holds out her hands I swing him up over my shoulder and pass him over to her. “I don’t know if you guys have met, this is Alice and Jasper, and this is Angela.”

Jasper nods, but Alice pushes Zeke at me and jumps out of her seat and bear hugs Angela. “I’ve heard all about you!” she says enthusiastically. “From Bella, and Mom says you’re a godsend. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh thanks,” Angela says, slightly bemused. “It’s nice to meet you too.” Her eyes are caught by Zeke’s mauled face and she winces. “Dracula baby been at it again?”

“Yeah. But as you can see by the forensic evidence he left behind, his second molar has come through.” I look ruefully at the purple bitemark bruise that’s dominating Zeke’s face. “Take a seat, you’ve only missed Daisy on the beam. She didn’t do that well, but it’s usually her worst event so she’s only going to get better from here.”

I repeat this to Daisy when she slouches over to us on the break.

“I bombed so badly,” she mutters.

“But you got back up and kept going,” I say bracingly. “You’ve still got your favourite events to come, and you’re going to knock it out of the park.”

“I’m not playing _baseball_ ,” she says, with eight-year-old pedantry, but she’s smiling at me as she climbs up on Jasper’s lap and wraps her arms around his neck and sounds much more cheerful as she adds, “I’m glad you’re all here to watch me – hopefully I don’t mess up again and I can show you what I can do. I’m heaps better than the last time you came to a meet!”

And she does give us something to watch, because my firstborn baby girl is amazing. Her vault is solid, she flies on the uneven bars, and her floor routine ends with some of the strongest applause of the day. Daisy is one of the smallest ones competing today, all spider limbs and wrinkled leotard on her skinny little frame, and this is a club meet where most of the people know her story and feel sorry for her, but it’s more than that. Her smile is a mile wide as she moves across the floor, and she has the kind of charisma that makes people want to watch her. No one is surprised when she medals twice, with a silver on bars and a gold on floor.

I’m the first one down on the side of the mats at the end of the medal presentations, ready to catch her up in my arms and congratulate her. I don’t even care that people are watching as I grab her and toss her up high before I hug her too me almost too tightly. _I love you so much kiddo._ “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

Daisy hugs me back, the medals hung around her neck jammed in between us. “I can’t believe it!”

“You deserve it little bug,” I tell her. “You’ve been training really hard, and today it paid off. I loved watching you – we all did! And I’m so, so proud…”

My voice trails off. _I just wish your mom was here to see you too. She loved you so much, and she would have been so proud of you today too – I wish more than anything that she was here, pulling you out of my arms so she could have a turn to congratulate you too, because it’s not the same without her here. Nothing is the same…_

I bite back the words. Because right now, Daisy is happy. Triumphant, and basking in admiration as I let her down and she runs over to the family for more hugs and kisses and congratulations as she shows off her medals. I can’t do or say anything to dim the light in her face. I can’t let her know that her golden moment is pouring salt into the wounds I bear so deep, because once again I’m celebrating it alone. It’s another moment that Rosalie has missed.

_I miss you Rosa-girl._

“Are you okay?” Angela speaks up quietly at my elbow. She’s rocking a sleeping Zeke in her arms, swaying slightly, and her eyes on mine are kind.

“On yeah, I’m fine! She did so great, I’m so proud, I’m so…” I break off my inane babbling and finish savagely, “ _I wish Rosalie was here._ I hate that she’s missing this too…I hate that I can’t just enjoy Daisy’s moment without feeling like I want to break things in a fucking stupid rage because I can’t accept that this is my life now. _Rosalie should still be here._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Angela says simply. “It’s really not fair.”

“Yeah…it’s really not.” And the rage drains away, leaving behind an ache of regret that’s maybe only a little easier to live with. “But I don’t want Daisy to feel it, not now. She did great – I want her to be happy. I want today to be about her achievements for once, not about what she’s lost.”

Angela nods. “It is – look at her. She’s happy Emmett.”

I look over at Daisy, sitting on Alice’s lap and giggling as she hangs one of her medals around Holly’s neck, and for a brief moment the heartache eases. _She’s happy. Whatever else, today…she’s happy._

“Thanks,” I say to Angela. “Really. Thanks for coming today and thanks for…thanks.” It’s inarticulate and almost meaningless, and yet I know that she understands. I grin at her and turn back towards Daisy and the rest of my family, ready to smile and celebrate like we’re still whole. Because, maybe just for today…we are.


	30. The Loneliness of Grief

We go out for an early dinner after the gymnastics meet, taking up two tables at the Italian place near the gym. Angela comes too, Carlisle joins us after he’s finished at the hospital, and then Edward and Bella and Eliza arrive and pull up another couple of chairs. It’s a big, chaotic family gathering with all the children, noisy and messy and full of laughter, and I try and let it soothe over the ache in my soul. I’m not sure how well it works.

Alice and Jasper come back to my house afterwards. They play with the kids and help with bath time, and then curl up with the older kids to watch a movie. I watch for a little while, and then lie down with Bram and Zeke and settle them in bed. They’re exhausted after only napping briefly at the gym and it doesn’t take long before they’re sound asleep. I swap out some laundry and empty the dishwasher, and then bathe Holly in the kitchen sink while Alice and Jasper finish up the movie and then shepherd Daisy, Mac and Noah up to bed.

I lay Holly on a rug on the living room floor to dress her and then stretch out beside her, holding up a set of plastic keys. She grabs at them, kicking her legs and rolling from side to side, although she can’t quite flip herself over yet. I nudge her until she tips over onto her belly and she immediately pushes up on her forearms and smiles at me.

“Look at little baby muscles here!” Alice jumps down the last of the stairs and comes on to the floor beside me and starts making faces at Holly. The baby strains upwards to look at her, enraptured. “Are you going to grow up and be a gymnast like your big sister?”

Holly straightens her arms and leans sideways, until the weight of her oversized head tips her sideways and she rolls onto her back. She smiles at me and reaches for the keys, and I hold them until she can grip one and bring it to her mouth.

“She might have to take a few lessons before she’s doing what Daisy does,” I say dryly, as Holly misses her mouth and bonks herself in the forehead with her toy.

“Daisy is absolutely _amazing_ ,” Alice declares, sitting up and hugging her knees. “Watching her today was so cool – I can’t believe how good she is!”

“She did great today,” I say with a grin.

“So what’s her goal here? Are we going to be watching her in the Olympics in a few years?”

I groan. “Alice, she’s _eight._ Who knows? I can’t even think ahead to the end of next week, let alone plan out Daisy’s gymnastics future for the next decade.”

Alice giggles. “I know it’s asking a lot…but she’s really good!”

“Yeah, she is,” I acknowledge. “And if she keeps on the way she is, I guess elite gymnastics could be a possibility for her… _if_ she doesn’t get an injury, _if_ puberty doesn’t do a number on her body, _if_ she gets noticed by the right people, _if_ she stays focussed, _if_ she doesn’t want to go and try cheerleading or basketball or theatre or chess or swing dancing or raising prize winning miniature donkeys or…”

“Okay, okay, point taken!” Alice shakes her head.

I grin. “Right now, this is fun for her. She works really hard at it, but it’s all her call - she wants to do gymnastics more than she wants to do anything else, so I do what I can to support her. I’m not pushing this. And realistically…I mean you saw what it was like today, trying to wrangle all the boys and the baby while Daisy does her thing. It sucked. So I don’t even know if, practically…well, I’ll figure it out if I have to, but it would be a massive commitment that would impact everyone.”

I look back down at Holly, not saying the rest of it. _I never wanted to be doing this by myself. Six of them…there is so much to do and I don’t know how it’s possible for me to do it on my own. It’s hard enough to get the laundry done and make sure there’s always peanut butter and formula in the pantry, without having to plan out a fucking elite sports career for an eight year old!_

“Mom and Dad will help you. And if you need help with extra coaching, or getting her into some good training clinics or whatever, just let us know. We’d love to help!”

“Like _you_ have any money,” I snort.

“Well, no,” Alice grins. “Admittedly Jasper and I didn’t choose the most lucrative of careers. Costume design is something of a labour of love at this point! But if you ever needed anything, we’d try.”

“I know, and thanks. But financially I’m okay for now. Actually,” I pause. “The truth is, I’ve got more money than I’ve ever had in my life. It feels really weird. Rosalie died and I got her life insurance payout and all her retirement money and even access to her trust fund...it’s kind of disgusting.”

“Rosalie was always practical,” Alice says. “She’d be glad that everything she put into place worked out and you’re all taken of.”

“Oh yeah,” I say hastily. “I mean, it’s good and everything, because I certainly need it – I pay Angela more to watch the kids than I make at the moment. I don’t even know what I’d be doing if I couldn’t do that.” I pull a corner of the blanket over Holly’s face for a moment, then lift it in a game of peek-a-boo. “Hey Jellybean? We’d all be grifting in the streets without Mommy’s money, wouldn’t we?”

“Weren’t you lucky to find Angela though?” Alice says, taking over my game of peek-a-boo and making Holly laugh with her exaggerated faces of surprise. “I’ve heard all about her from Daisy, and Bella says she’s amazing too, and they were absolutely right! I was so happy to meet her today.”

“She’s great,” I say. “The kids love her, and she’s really good with them.”

“You guys all seem to be doing pretty well with her here,” Alice says.

I nod. “She’s really helped me pull it together here at home. She takes great care of the kids, which is the most important thing, but she’s gone above and beyond in a lot of other ways. She likes cooking, so she’s written up a monthly meal plan and organised a system for grocery shopping, and she’s really good at helping the kids through their homework and teaching the babies how to be real people.” I grimace. “They’re not chewing each other’s faces off on _her_ watch.”

“What about you?” Alice asks, a little hesitantly. “How are you _really_ doing? You seem a little bit…better.”

“I guess you get used to anything,” I say, a little bleakly. “Even this.”

“Oh Em, I’m sorry.” Alice shakes her head. “But it is getting a little bit easier to live with?”

“Well, I don’t wish I was dead _every_ day now, so…” I half laugh and then take a deep breath and say seriously, “It’s different now. And yeah, some parts of it are easier. I’m busy enough with the day to day routine that I can’t dwell in the past even when I want to – when I’ve got three dirty diapers to change and a bottle to make up and five kids that need toast and oatmeal and clean clothes before the school bus comes I can’t afford to let the grief swamp me. So mostly, I don’t; I just suck it up and get on with things. But sometimes…sometimes I can’t, and that’s…”

I don’t finish. I can’t tell her about the dreams, about the rage, about the howling monster of grief that sometimes rears up and seizes me in its claws and rips me open all over again.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Alice says.

“Look, it’s okay, and I’m glad you guys are here tonight. It’s really nice to have company…that can talk, I mean!” I say, looking down at Holly who kicks her legs energetically and smiles at me. “Not that you’re not good company in your own way Jellybean, but you’re not exactly a conversationalist.” I look back at Alice and say slowly, “I just really miss her. Like, it’s not always as brutal and sharp and savage as it was at the start, but when it comes down to it she was my best friend and I miss her. We shared a life, and now it feels like half of me is gone too. I mean, we were together since we were sixteen, and in that whole time I think the longest we were ever apart was five weeks. And that was only once, that time I broke my foot when we were skiing and I couldn’t drive up to visit her at college! All the time she was at college we had weekends together, and since then we only ever had a few days apart because of conferences or something like that. Now it’s coming up on five months that I’ve been on my own and that’s just…sometimes it feels like I lost her yesterday, and sometimes it feels like I’ve been living this way for a thousand years.”

Alice looks troubled. “It sounds so lonely.”

I shrug, because she’s right. It _is_ lonely. A strange kind of loneliness, when I’m surrounded by the needy company of my children most of the day, when I have friends and family all willing to do anything…and yet no one can quite touch my solitary grief.

“It’s okay,” I say at last. “Esme and Carlisle are here a lot, and work’s picking up now so I’m spending a lot of time at the shop with Jonah and with clients. The kids keep me busy, and during the week Angela usually stays until the boys are in bed. By the time I read with Daisy and play with Holly and get her settled, I pretty much just head to bed myself. I’m dealing with it.”

Alice frowns slightly. “What about Edward and Bella? Has something happened there? I noticed at dinner that you didn’t really talk much to either of them.”

I shift uncomfortably. Alice always sees so much. “Nothing’s happened.”

“But…?” Alice prompts. “Come on Emmett, what’s going on?”

“They’re busy, I’m busy, and…and I know that I’m being fucking stupid, but right now I can barely stand being around them,” I say defiantly. “And I _know_ how fucked up that is. But Bella is getting bigger now and I can’t see that pregnant belly without thinking…remembering…and I can’t do it. I can’t.” I feel my teeth on my knuckles. “Right now, I look at Bella and I think about death. I see her belly and I see…I see blood in a birth pool and Rosalie cold and still, and I think about babies without their mommas and that’s too hard Alice. I don’t have it in me to deal with that. So I avoid it whenever I can. And I know it’s not fair. Not to them, and not to me because damned if I don’t miss them…but nothing about this is fair.”

I lay my head back against the sofa wearily. I hate this emotional minefield! Because I didn’t just lose Rosalie when she died – I lost whole huge pieces of myself too, and the raw places left behind are torturous.

“I’m sorry,” Alice says softly. She crawls over and sits beside me, leaning against my arm. “I love you.”

“It’s all right. And it’s not like Edward and I don’t still talk and text a fair bit. It’s just a bit more distant and…well, it’s just one more fucked up thing in this fucked up situation, but at least this one has an end point. In a couple of months Bella will have the baby and we’ll go back to normal,” I sigh. “I’m sorry to lay all this on you! Really, I just wanted to hang out and have some fun with you this weekend, not start spilling my guts all over the place!” I smile ruefully.

Alice laughs. “That’s okay – it’s what I’m here for! Gosh Emmett, how much crap have we gone through together in our lives? We’ll get through this too.” She picks up Holly and kisses her, smiling at me over her curly head. “Do you remember telling me once, right after Daisy was born, that you loved me first? That before everything else, you loved me first…well the same is true for me. I loved you first, and I’ll always love you. So spill your guts all you want; I’m here to listen. And _only_ listen,” Alice says guiltily. “I was too quick to jump in with the advice and believing I know best back at Christmas time, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t worry about it. You were right…about the drinking at least.” I give her a shamefaced look. “I was falling pretty hard and I didn’t even care; all I wanted was to not feel anything for a while, and that was the easiest way. But you were right that I had to stop it.”

I don’t tell her how hard it was. How hard it sometimes still is, when the kids are all asleep and I’m alone in the quiet house with the dreams of Rosalie looming ahead of me in the night, not to reach for the one easy source of numbness that I have available to me.

“Well I’m glad about that,” Alice says. “Because while I’m sorry I gave you a hard time, I actually do think I was right about everything! Okay, maybe it was a bit too soon to bring up the idea of you dating again, but you just don’t seem like the kind of person who’s meant for a life of singlehood and celibacy.”

I half laugh and then sigh. “Well, that’s the way it’s going to go I guess. Because as much as I miss having sex – and you’re the one who brought this up, not me! – I can’t even imagine it with anyone but Rosalie. And really Alice-I’m a thirty-five year old dad of six, with a currently half-assed career, a broken heart and enough baggage to sink an aircraft carrier…who would even go there? I’m not exactly a great catch!”

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised,” Alice says lightly. “There are all kinds of people in this world Emmett, and I can pretty much guarantee that when you open your eyes and start looking around you’re going to find more women than you expect who will want everything you have to offer.”

I know she means well, but I can’t see it. Rosalie was my world – how could anyone, ever, replace her?

Before I can tell her that she’s wrong, Jasper comes wandering in from the kitchen. “Brownie?” he offers, passing me a bowl.

“I have brownies?” I take it eagerly.

He grins. “You had a box of brownie mix and an oven, and I have two hands and the ability to read a recipe. Add in some hunger to motivate me and here we are.”

“Delicious,” I say through a mouthful. “If ever you decide academia isn’t for you, you could open a brownie bar…for god’s sake Alice, Holly can’t eat brownies or ice cream yet so don’t even try.”

We drift into other subjects then, talking and laughing and playing with the baby while a game plays on the tv in the background. It’s relaxed, and fun, and _easy_ in a way that so little in my life is.

Alice was not wrong when she said my life was lonely. Sometimes it is. During the day I’m so busy, and there are the kids and Angela and Jonah and Carlisle and Esme and work, I don’t have time to think that much. But the nights, when the big kids are asleep and I have only the tv and baby Holly for company, can be hard to get through when I have nothing to distract me from my memories and loss. I treasure the respite Alice and Jasper offer me, even if it is only for a weekend.

I don’t want it to end, but eventually Alice yawns and stretches. “We should go to bed,” she says. “I’m really tired…will you help me make up the bed in the guest room?”

“Sure.” I hand Holly over to Jasper and follow Alice to the spare room. There’s a bunch of crap on the sofa bed, school projects from the kids and a pile of outgrown clothes from Bram and Zeke and Holly that I’ve thrown in here because I couldn’t be bothered dealing with them yet, and I quickly begin bundling everything together and moving it out of the way.

“Sorry, I meant to do something with all this before you got here,” I say, slightly embarrassed. “I need to go through the clothes and figure out what to do with it. What do I keep for Holly to grow into, what do I chuck, what goes to Goodwill…Bella might want the baby clothes, I don’t know. It’s just another one of those things that I wouldn’t have done, before…” My voice fades.

“It’s all right, don’t worry about it. I can help you go through them tomorrow if you want – you know I’m good at organising clothes!” Alice says, reaching into the closet. “Do I use these blue sheets? Or the…oh my god!”

I drop a handful of clothes at her sudden shriek. “What?”

“Is this…are you…are you keeping Rosalie _in the linen closet?_ ” Alice backs out of the closet, her eyes like saucers and the copper and brass urn containing Rosalie’s ashes held gingerly in her hands.

It’s not exactly funny, but Alice’s shocked face and the incongruity of it make me laugh anyway. “Yeah, why? Is that wrong?”

“Well, it seems a little…undignified?” Alice says with a giggle. “I mean, the _linen closet?_ This urn is a work of art, it really looks like it should be on display.”

“A work of art…that holds the remains of my dead wife.” I shrug, picking up the dropped onesies and tossing them onto the desk with the rest of the clothes. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I put it on the mantlepiece when I first got it back from the mortician, but Bram and Zeke kept trying to get it and it really bothered Noah to have to look at it all the time. So I put it in here, out of the way.”

I don’t say how much it had bothered me too. The urn sitting there on the mantlepiece had been a constant, inescapable reminder that the body of the woman I loved, the body I had cherished and adored, was now nothing but ash. The truth was I had been relieved when Noah asked me to take it away and I’d had an excuse to hide the urn where I didn’t have to see it anymore.

Alice turns the urn thoughtfully in her hands. “I never even thought about what you actually _do_ with the ashes if you keep them like this.”

I reach past Alice into the closet and pull down the sheets, unfurling them over the sofa bed. “I didn’t either. It all seems kind of macabre…am I keeping them as a souvenir?”

“You could scatter them somewhere?” Alice suggests.

“I’ve thought about it.” I tuck in the sheets and spread the quilt over the top. “I thought maybe I’d do something with the kids, spread them out by the river or something…I don’t know though.”

It’s another decision that seems too hard to make. Too weighty, too final… _I’m still not ready to say goodbye. Not really._

I take the urn from Alice and gently replace it in the closet.


	31. Sick Day

“Dad? Daddy…wake up…”

 _No, please no. Please don’t make me wake up._ Sheer exhaustion battles with my sense of responsibility. I’ve been up and down with an uncharacteristically fractious Holly all night and feel like I’ve only just fallen asleep. _It can’t be morning already._

“Dad…I’m sick.”

Responsibility wins out and I grope for the bedside lamp and open my eyelids a crack, seeing Mac standing at the side of the bed looking miserable. “What is it?”

“My stomach hurts.” He crawls into bed and lays his head beside mine on the pillow. The smell of vomit on his breath is so strong it practically makes my eyes water. “I puked.”

“Oh god. Where?” I sit up and brush his hair back from his hot forehead.

“On the stairs…I’m sorry.” His blue eyes well with tears. “I didn’t make it to the bathroom.”

“That’s okay buddy, you couldn’t help it. No big deal - I’ll just go clean it up.”

I nearly puke myself when I see the mess. I can’t even remember what we ate for dinner, but the evidence Mac has left splattered and dripping down half the staircase would suggest that he ate a hell of a lot of it.

_The stairs…why the stairs of all places? Does the universe really hate me that much?_

I trudge down to the basement and grab the cleaning supplies. I deliver a bucket to Mac, then fill the other with a mix of hot water and bleach and get to work. I’ve only just finished the last step when there’s a noise on the top step and I look up to see Noah trailing his Banky behind him and looking down at me.

“Careful,” I say. “The stairs might be slippery. I’ve just had to clean them because Mac was…”

Noah leans forward and gags.

“…sick,” I finish glumly.

With a sigh I reach up and grab Noah under his arms, swinging him down several steps so he won’t have to walk through his own puke. I give him a hug and kiss his cheek, noting the clamminess of his skin. “You okay?”

“I don’t feel good,” he mumbles into my neck.

“I bet you don’t. Why don’t you go and rinse your mouth out, and then you can get into my bed with Mac if you want. He’s got a bucket…I’ll clean this up and then come and check on you.”

Noah stumbles towards my bedroom and I get back to work wiping and mopping, being gloomily grateful that we’d decided against carpet on the staircase when we converted the attic to bedrooms. By the time I’m finished cleaning the sun is up, and there’s no point even thinking about trying to go back to sleep.

And for a day that began so badly, it only gets worse.

Holly wakes up with a diaper blowout so disastrous that it requires her entire crib to be stripped of bedding and an immediate bath to clean her up. She screams the whole time, which wakes Bram and Zeke who join in the caterwauling.

Daisy stomps down the stairs, demanding to know why there’s so much noise and why does our house smell like a janitor’s closet? It’s hard to tell, but I think she might look paler than usual and given how much time I’ve just spent cleaning vomit off the stair treads I question her suspiciously about how her stomach feels. She insists she’s fine, takes a shower and gets ready for school, and then eats a bowl of oatmeal and frozen raspberries. Five minutes later the whole mess comes back up again and she concedes that perhaps she’s not, actually, fine. At least she makes it to the toilet before she throws up. She lies on the sofa, miserably clutching the largest plastic mixing bowl against her chest, and I switch on the tv for her.

Mac and Noah both wake and vomit again. Noah gets it in the bucket, but Mac misses and pukes all over my bed. I rinse out the bucket, strip the bed, and move them into the living room with Daisy before I drag piles of stinking bedding down to the basement and start a load of laundry.

Holly drinks half her morning bottle and then cries until she pukes it all back up again. I change her clothes, pace around the living room rubbing her back and singing tunelessly until her sobs slow to hiccups and she falls into a restless sleep, and text Jonah that I won’t be in to work today.

Once Holly’s asleep in her swing and the three older kids are hunched under blankets clutching buckets and bowls and staring at the tv, I think I might get a moment of respite. I sit down on the floor and lean against the side of the sofa and close my eyes…only to have a whining Zeke climb onto my lap and puke his breakfast back up all over both of us. Just when I think that this is it, the lowest moment of my life and it can’t get any worse, Bram clambers into the mess on my lap and casually vomits jelly toast and oatmeal all down my neck.

_Well, isn’t that just wonderful._

There’s nothing for it but to carry the two of them into the bathroom and put all three of us in the shower, despite the sobbing and shrieking. The little twins might love bath time, but they hate showers and it’s all I can do to keep the door shut with my foot to stop them escaping while I scrub the three of us clean. As soon as possible I turn off the water and dry them off.

“It’s all right, it’s all right…” I pick up two teary, sniffling toddlers and give them a hug. “I know you don’t feel too good. Let’s go to your room and find some clothes and then Daddy’ll get dressed and we’ll see about some Pedialyte or something…”

I step out into the hallway and see Angela, who has let herself in the front door and is hanging her coat up.

“Oh damn,” I say. “I meant to call you and say not to come! The kids are all sick and you don’t want to catch it…oh shit. Sorry.”

Suddenly realising I’m naked I swing one of the toddlers in my arms down a little in the hopes that he’ll cover everything up, only to stagger backwards with a high pitched yelp as his heel connects solidly with my testicles. “Aaargh!”

Angela looks a little pink, but she laughs as she steps closer and reaches out for one of the twins. “Don’t worry about it Emmett, I’m not looking…I’ll fix the boys up while you go and get dressed.”

“Right. Yeah…sorry.” My face flaming, I leave Bram and Zeke with Angela and hurry back to my room to find some clothes. I throw on the first things that come to hand, hearing Holly beginning to wail from her swing.

“Okay baby Holly, I hear you but you’re just going to have to wait a second…” I say, grabbing some baby wipes and using them to frantically clean up the mess on the living room floor from Bram and Zeke. “I’m just going to clean this up…”

Holly cries louder.

Daisy moans and stumbles off the sofa, heading towards the toilet. A second later Mac bolts after her, then I hear his hysterical shouting as he finds the door locked. He runs back towards my bedroom, heading for the en suite, but he doesn’t make it. And this time it’s not vomit.

“Da-ad!”

“Okay, okay…sorry Holly, just one more second…” I leave the baby and find Mac in tears in my bathroom, and kneel down beside him. “Okay buddy, don’t get upset. You’re sick, it happens…you need to get in the shower though. Use mine in here, that’s fine…” I help him peel his pyjama pants down, careful not to spread any more mess around than absolutely necessary, and see him into the shower. “Holly, I’m coming!”

Angela beats me into the living room, scooping Holly up out of her swing and snuggling her close to stop her crying. “Hello baby girl…oh, I think you need a new diaper, don’t you? Emmett, what’s going on?”

“They’re sick,” I mutter, “They’re ALL sick. Look, I’m really sorry but can you change Holly while I sort out some laundry?”

“Sure.”

I grab Mac’s pyjamas and then bundle up the vomit spattered clothes and towels from the little twins and I and carry the whole fetid pile down to the laundry and rinse it off in the sink. The earlier load is just finishing and I swap it to the dryer and start another, and then search through the crate of medical supplies we keep in the basement until I find the tin of Pedialyte powder.

“That diaper was pure liquid diarrhoea,” Angela informs me as I re-enter the kitchen. “Her butt’s really red. I slathered her in lotion but we’ll need to keep an eye on it.” 

“Yeah, she woke up in a mess this morning.” I take Holly gently from Angela, and the baby buries her face in my neck as she cries. “Thanks for cleaning her up. Look, you should probably go home…I’m not going to work today and you don’t want to catch this.”

Angela pushes past me and reaches into a cupboard for a plastic jug. “Don’t be silly; you can’t possibly deal with six sick kids on your own! I’ve got an economy sized tub of hand sanitiser in my bag and a strong constitution – I’ll be fine.”

I laugh, tenderly rubbing Holly’s back. “Are you sure? I feel like I should offer you hazard pay or something. I mean ALL of them are sick, and it has to be a virus – I ate the same things they did yesterday and I feel fine, and Holly’s sick and she doesn’t even eat solid food. And so far today I’ve already had to clean the stairs, the sofa, the living room floor, my bed, Holly’s crib, _myself_ …”

“And that’s exactly why you need someone else here,” Angela says, picking up the can of Pedialyte and reading the label. “I’ll make some of this up for the kids, but it says you should talk to a doctor before you give it to an infant under a year. Maybe you should give your dad a call and check with him about what’s best to do for Holly?”

I was genuine when I told Angela to go home, but as the day wears on I am fervently thankful that she was willing to stay. Dealing with six sick, unhappy children is a nightmare. Holly never wants to be put down. She cries for food, and whether we try milk or Pedialyte she simply pukes it back up, and immediately cries for more. I change her the second I notice she’s pooped, but her diaper rash is horrific. Daisy, Mac and Noah at least aim their vomit at the buckets and (mostly) get their diarrhoea in the toilet, but Bram and Zeke seem to have no idea what’s happening and just puke wherever they happen to be. I have no choice but to toss several picture books in the trash after one incident, and almost the entire contents of the living room toy box end up soaking in buckets of bleach after another. The state of the diapers is unspeakable. For hours all Angela and I do is rinse out buckets, wipe up messes, run loads of laundry, hand out Pedialyte and crackers, and rock and hug and soothe crying and unhappy children.

There’s something of a respite in the late afternoon. Holly finally drops off into a deeper sleep and is able to be put down in her crib. Daisy and Mac are feeling a little bit better, and cautiously eat some applesauce and goldfish crackers while they watch a movie. Noah and Zeke fall asleep on the sofa, and Bram lies on the floor, listlessly running a wooden train along a curved section of track as he stares at the tv.

“I thought I should run to the store,” Angela says as I come up from the basement with a load of clean bed sheets. “We’re almost out of Pedialyte. I think most of the kids are on the mend, but it would still be good to have some on hand. I thought I’d buy some soup and bread for dinner too – something simple that the kids can eat with a tender tummy. Is there anything else you want?”

“Laundry detergent,” I say, going into my room and beginning to remake the bed. “I’ve just put on another load and we’re running low. Grab my bankcard out of my wallet, pay with that.”

Angela follows me into my room and helps with the bed, tugging on the opposite corner of the sheets. “How are we for diapers?”

“Bram and Zeke still have half a box or so, but Holly’s almost out,” I say, folding in my corner of the sheets and then sliding a pillow into a case.

“I’ll pick some up.” Angela tucks in the sheets and fluffs up the comforter. “We should keep an eye on her. If she doesn’t take something and keep it down when she wakes up I think it might be a good idea to ask your dad what we should do. I’m getting worried about her; this is an awful stomach bug and she’s still a little baby.”

I nod. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll let her sleep for a little longer and then see if she’ll take something.” I longingly eye the freshly made bed – it’s been a hell of a day and I’m exhausted.

Angela leaves, and I rinse off all the toys soaking in bleach and leave them to dry, sort out some of the laundry, hand out the last ice-encrusted popsicles to Mac and Daisy and a newly awake and cautiously hungry Noah, and then flop down onto the end of the sofa. Bram climbs laboriously onto my lap and slumps against my chest. He whimpers a little, like he’s miserable but too tired to make any real fuss, and I wrap my arm around him and rub his back with my big hands. He feels heavy and warm, and as I touch him his body relaxes and his breathing deepens into the rhythm of sleep.

I don’t realise I’ve dozed off too until a gentle hand on my shoulder brings me back.

“Emmett?”

“Huh?” I yawn, and rub at my eyes, glancing across at the movie and seeing that the movie is up to the final scenes. Shit. I must have been out of it for a little while – what’s happened? But Bram is asleep on my chest, Zeke asleep on the other end of the sofa, and the older kids are draped around the room in various states of lethargy.

“It’s Holly.” Angela leans over my shoulder, her dark eyes anxious behind her glasses. “I’m really worried…you need to come and have a look at her.”

“Okay.” I gently move the sleeping Bram to the sofa and stagger to my feet, following Angela down the hall to Holly’s room.

“I was going to try and get her to take a few sips of Pedialyte,” Angela says, indicating the bottle in her hand. “But she wouldn’t wake up properly and she seems…off. Much sicker than earlier.”

I lean over the crib, and anxiety twists in my gut as I see what Angela means. Holly doesn’t look right. Her skin looks dry and rough, her lips cracked, and despite the warm room her little hands are cold and blotchy. “Oh Jellybean, this doesn’t look too good…wake up sweetheart.”

My heart pounds as I pick her up, not roughly but in a way that should rouse her, and yet it takes several moments of talking to her and moving her before she wakes. When she finally opens her eyes they’re bleary and sunken, and I feel myself veering to the edge of panic. This baby is really sick.

“Holly sweetie, try and have something.” Angela stands at my shoulder, offering the baby the bottle, but when Holly lets it fall from her mouth she shakes her head and says decisively, “You need to take her to the hospital.”

I know she’s right, I know Holly needs help, but for a moment all I want to say is _NO. No. Don’t make me go back there. Don’t make me take this baby back to the place where I lost her mother._

It hits me then, in a visceral way that I’ve never felt before, how very much I love my baby daughter. I have taken care of her since the day I brought her home - I have rocked and soothed and kissed her, fed her, bathed and cuddled her – but grief has coloured every single action to the point that I have sometimes wondered guiltily if I feel anything real for her at all. But now, looking at her pale face and her dull blue eyes and feeling my heart lurch, it is clear to me that what I feel for Holly is profound.

Angela grabs the diaper bag and briskly loads it up with diapers, wipes and spare clothes before turning back to where I’m still standing, petrified. She pauses for a moment, looking at me, and then wraps her arms around both Holly and I and gives us an unexpected hug.

“It will be all right,” she says gently. “Holly’s dehydrated, that’s all. They’ll be able to get fluids into her and she’ll be fine…it will be okay.” She kisses the baby on the forehead and hooks the diaper bag over my shoulder. “Go on. I’ll stay here with the other kids as long as it takes, don’t worry about them.”

I say good bye to the other kids and strap Holly into her car seat. She cries briefly, weak and feeble, before she lapses back into sleep and my concern deepens. As soon as I’m in the car I put the phone on speaker and call Carlisle, but I can only leave a message. Fighting back panic, I try Esme.

“I’m on my way to the hospital,” I say without preamble when she picks up. “It’s Holly…she’s sick, she’s been puking and shitting all day and she looks…I don’t even know, not good…I tried to call Carlisle but he’s not answering and…I don’t know if…”

“Emmett, slow down. You’re on the way to the ER with Holly?”

I try and take a deep breath. “Yes. The kids have had a stomach virus all day. So Holly hasn’t been keeping down any of her milk, and now she’s got a dry mouth and her skin looks a bit odd and she’s kind of sleepy…”

“You definitely need to take her in,” Esme says calmly. “That sounds like she’s dehydrated, which isn’t good for such a little baby. Don’t worry about not being able to talk to Carlisle yet, you can ask the ER staff to let him know you’re there. What about the other children? Are they all with Angela?”

“Yeah. They’ve all been sick too…god, today was a nightmare. They’re pretty miserable, but not too bad now.” I look in the rear view mirror, wishing I could see Holly in her car seat.

“All right then. I’ll drive over to your house and help Angela, and hold down the fort if it gets late and she has to leave. You don’t need to worry about any of that – just concentrate on Holly,” Esme says. 

“What if…she looks really sick …I should have taken her in earlier but I…the hospital…Mom…” My voice cracks.

I almost never call Esme Mom. She knows that I think of her as my mother in all the ways that really matter, but the fact that the word has slipped out here, says more about my state of terror than anything else could.

“Oh darling, it will be all right,” Esme says. “I know how hard this is, but you are strong and capable Emmett, and you can do this. I promise. I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon. Okay?”

I say goodbye, and thoughts of my sick baby swirl in my head with memories of my pregnant wife as the hospital looms ahead of me.

_Please let her be okay. Please don’t make me go through anything like that again._


	32. The Hospital Again

The line at the ER triage desk is long, but the staff move pretty fast once they see Holly. We’re sent straight to a treatment cubicle, and a couple of nurses take Holly from me and lay her on the bed to begin checking her out.

“How old is she? And do you know how much she weighs?”

“She’s four months - almost five. Eighteen pounds, more or less.”

I’m nudged aside as they take her temperature and strip off her sleeper so they can attach a monitor to her foot. Holly sleeps through it, her limbs floppy.

“How long has she been like this?”

“She’s been sick all day, vomiting and diarrhoea. I don’t know how many times, but I’ve been through like twenty diapers…I’ve tried feeding her with her regular formula and then some Pedialyte, but nothing stays down.” I glance up at the clock. “She went to sleep a couple of hours ago and I thought she might feel better if she napped, but when I went to wake her she was worse. You can see…” I gesture helplessly.

“When did it start? What’s her diet? Formula, breastmilk, any solids?” The nurse examines Holly’s head, and then pinches her skin hard enough to make Holly cry out. “This gives us an indication of how dehydrated she might be…that’s right sweetie, wake up and talk to me. You’re a bit too sleepy.”

“She only has formula. Usually six times a day, about four or five ounces at a time…although last night she only finished about half of that. All my other kids are sick, so I was thinking it’s probably a virus,” I say.

“There’s a nasty one going round.” The nurse undoes the tabs on Holly’s diaper, and finds it dry. “When did she last have a wet diaper?”

I shrug. “Pee - I don’t know. It’s just been liquid diarrhoea all day, so it’s hard to tell.” I bite my knuckles. “My dad is one of the paediatricians here – Carlisle Cullen. I told them at triage, but I’d really like it if he could be the one to see her.”

“He’s with another patient now, but we’ll let him know you’re here as soon as he’s done,” the nurse promises.

But it’s another doctor that swishes through the curtains a few minutes later. He introduces himself and says that he’s being supervised by Carlisle and that he’ll just make a start, and immediately begins to examine Holly.

“She’s very dehydrated,” the doctor tells me. “You can see that – her mouth is dry, there are no tears when she cries, her eyes and the soft spot on her head are slightly sunken…see? Dehydration can happen pretty quickly in babies, and it can be serious so we want to get some fluids into her as soon as possible. I’m going to put in an iv now…do you want to hold her still for me?”

I _don’t_ want to, not at all. The idea of holding my baby girl still so that they can do something that will hurt her turns my stomach. But Holly’s awake and whimpering and reaching for me, and I don’t want her to feel afraid. So I settle onto the bed with my arms wrapped around her, bending low to kiss her head and murmur reassuringly into her ear as the doctor preps her arm to insert an IV.

He blows the first one. I don’t know what goes wrong, I can’t watch, but Holly is rigid with pain and terror and screaming in my arms as the doctor pulls the needle out and shakes his head. “This sometimes happens, I’ll just have to try the other side,” he says, and I can hear the forced casualness of his voice.

“It’s all right, it’s all right…” I keep holding Holly immobile as he tries again on her other arm, but it doesn’t work this time either. Holly is beside herself, choking on her screams and gagging as her hysteria brings on another bout of vomiting, and I’m horrified to see the bruises blooming under her pale skin where he’s sticking her. 

“Damn it!” The doctor tosses another needle back onto the tray. “That one’s blown too.”

The nurse wipes up the thin strings of bile dribbling down Holly’s chin and chest, all that she was able to vomit up despite the desperate heaving. Her lips are tight as she says, “That’s two tries. Why don’t I call…”

“No, I can do it.” The doctor doesn’t let her finish. “She’s so dehydrated…maybe a scalp vein?” He leans forward and runs a hand through Holly’s hair.

“What the fuck? NO!” I see the blood, thick and dark red, welling up and dribbling down Holly’s arms and I can’t take anymore. To be here, in this hospital, seeing blood on my beautiful, vulnerable baby daughter as I fight against the memories of what happened here with her mother…it is too much. “No!”

“I can try her foot, but scalp veins are bigger on infants…”

“You’re not touching her again!” I’m on my feet, backing away from him with Holly in my arms. There’s a clatter as I knock the tray holding the needles and IV supplies, and the monitor is yanked off Holly’s foot as I reach the limit of the cord.

The doctor holds up a placating hand. “She’s dangerously dehydrated and she needs an IV.”

“Well someone else who knows what they’re doing can do it!” Holly is gasping for breath as she sobs in my arms, blood from the failed IV insertion punctures smearing along her skin and into my t-shirt.

“Does anyone need any help in here? Emmett…I thought that sounded like you.” The curtain slides across the rail and Carlisle comes in, defusing the situation with his usual calm.

“Dehydrated baby, with vomiting and diarrhoea over the past ten to twelve hours,” one of the nurses says quickly. “Two failed attempts at IV access. Her name’s Holly, four months old, formula only…”

“Yes, thank you Claire. She’s my granddaughter, so I know her stats.” Carlisle glances down at the doctor. “Matt?”

The doctor flushes. “She needs fluids. I was going to try the scalp vein but the father…” He breaks off and shoots me a look.

Carlisle comes over and stands close, looking me at me searchingly. “Okay, Emmett?” His voice is gentle.

“I hate this place,” I muttered. “I know Holly’s really sick, but…he hurt her and he made her bleed and…I couldn’t watch him do it again… _you_ take care of her.” I hold her out to him, my arms shaking.

Carlisle takes her from me, and Holly droops against his shoulder as he rubs her back. She looks worse than she did when I brought her in. “How about you come with Grandpa and we’ll see what we can do, hmmm?” He lays her gently on the bed and asks the other doctor to give him a quick run down, carrying out his own exam at the same time.

“You’re right that she needs fluids. However she’s a baby, not a pincushion, and in this situation two failed attempts at establishing an IV are enough.” Carlisle’s voice is mild, but the reproof is clear. “That’s when you call for an assist. Looking at her level of dehydration, getting peripheral access would be difficult even for me.” He examines Holly’s legs, and frowns as he and the others talk in low voices.

“Can you do something? Is she going to be okay?” I stand alongside him and run a finger over Holly’s cheek. Her skin feels dry and rough. 

“I’m going to take good care of her,” Carlisle says. “Now, we have to take some blood and I’m going to attempt the IV placement again.”

“Do you want me to hold her while you do it?” My voice shakes, and I bite down savagely on my fist.

Carlisle looks at me and hesitates, and for a moment I see his professionalism slip and his fatherly instincts take back over as he squeezes my shoulder. “Why don’t you go and get yourself a coffee? I’ll do what I need to do here with Holly and then you can come back and give her a cuddle once it’s all over.”

“But…are you sure? I mean, Holly…” My teeth scrape over my knuckles, and my skin burns.

“I’m sure. She’ll be fine with me.” Carlisle nods decisively and nudges me away from the bed. “There’s a drink machine at the end of the hall.”

I stumble out of the cubicle and head down the corridor. I find the coffee dispenser, but instead of pouring myself a cup I sink into a chair beside it and put my head in my hands.

I hate myself for leaving Holly. Oh sure, she has Carlisle and it isn’t like I can do anything anyway, but she’s my daughter and I’m her dad and I hate myself for dipping out when things get hard. But being here in this hospital, seeing my baby weak and sick on a hospital bed with the blood welling up against her pale skin…

_This place is full of ghosts. I know it’s where Holly needs to be, but all I can think about is that this is where her mother died. They didn’t save HER…what if Holly dies too?_

“Emmett?”

I look up at the sound of my name and find Edward standing in front of me, wearing scrubs and holding two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here, remember?” Edward grins at me and hands me one of the cups. “Here, take this…I got it from the café. You don’t want to risk your life with what you’ll get out of that machine.” He takes the seat beside me and inhales the scent of the coffee. “I’ve finished for the day, and I had a message on my phone from Esme that you were here and I should come downstairs and check in with you and make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, well Holly is down there with Carlisle…”

“It’s not Holly Esme was worried about. Obviously she’s concerned for her,” Edward clarifies quickly, “But Carlisle will be able to help Holly. It’s _you_ that Esme was worrying over.”

I smile wryly. “Because I’m an emotional wreck and shitty dad who can’t even hold his baby when she’s sick and needs me?”

My voice breaks on the last word, and Edward leans his shoulder against mine.

“You’re not a shitty dad,” he says quietly. “Whatever else you might be…you’re a great dad. But trauma doesn’t just disappear, and it’s hardly surprising if being in the hospital with Holly is hard for you after what you went through here with Rosalie.”

 _Rosalie._ My heart aches at the sound of her name and once again I wish, fiercely and impotently, that she had never left me.

_It’s been nearly five months, and I am still so lost without you. I wish you were here. I wish you had never gone. I miss you. I miss your touch and your voice and your laughter and support and love…I miss everything about you._

_I hate the person I am without you._

“I was doing all right until that useless fucking doctor blew two veins and made her bleed and wanted to stick a needle into her head,” I mutter. “That’s when I lost my shit.”

Edward winces. “I don’t blame you. And honestly Em, I’m a surgeon and I slice and stitch people back together for a living but I still made Bella take Eliza for her vaccinations because I didn’t want to watch somebody stick my daughter!”

I can’t help laughing, and the tension eases a little. “How are Bella and Eliza?”

“Good. Eliza’s starting to play the piano – cutest thing in the world. And Bella’s doing pretty well. Baby’s growing fine and we’ve set a date for the c-sec,” Edward says a little tentatively.

“That’s great.” I take a long swallow of the coffee. “You know, I’m sorry I’m kind of…absent. I miss you guys a lot. But…”

I don’t know how to finish, but Edward just smiles at me. The same way he’s accepted me for who I am and where I’m at the whole time he’s been my brother, he will accept this too. I give him a lopsided grin and feel some of the guilt drain away.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Bella and I understand, and I know that if something important came up you’d be there for me in a second, no questions. This pregnancy won’t last forever…although right now Bella probably feels a bit like it will!”

“It gets like that,” I say lightly. “Or so I was told.” A memory of Rosalie, belly heavy with baby, drifts across my mind and I push it away and rise to my feet. “I need to go and see what’s going on with Holly.”

“Esme said she had the stomach flu?” Edward keeps pace with me.

“Yeah, all six of them were sick; it’s been nothing but puking and shitting all day. The others are okay –miserable, but okay – but Holly looked so bad I had to bring her in.” My anxiety rises again. “I should have brought her in earlier. I fucked that up…but it was the stomach flu. I didn’t think it could be that bad…”

“Babies can dehydrate pretty quickly, especially with diarrhoea, and Holly’s not even five months old,” Edward says. “But I’m sure Carlisle’s got a line into her now and once she’s got some fluids on board she should be fine.”

When I push the cubicle curtain aside I find Carlisle on his own. Holly is cradled gently in his arms, her lower leg heavily bandaged, with plastic tubing coming out and hooked up to an IV. She’s crying, in a toneless moaning wail that makes my skin prickle and I instinctively reach for her, although I stop just short of lifting her from Carlisle’s arms. I’m terrified of hurting her. “Can I…?”

“Of course.” Carlisle hands her to me, and I curve my arms around her, biting back a sudden sting of tears as her body relaxes against my chest and her cries trail off with a final shuddering sigh.

“It’s all right,” I say hoarsely. “Daddy’s here…it’s all right.”

 **“** Oh, intraosseous access…interesting,” Edward says, examining whatever it is Carlisle’s done to Holly’s leg.

“This is why doctors shy away from treating family,” Carlisle says wryly. “That was rough. But she’s okay Emmett. As you can see I tried another IV access and didn’t get it.” He touches her bare foot to show me the puncture mark and the growing bruise. “So I went in through the bone in her leg – that line goes straight into bone marrow and can be a good option when peripheral access is so difficult. She’s getting fluids now, I’ve ordered some blood work to check on a few concerns, and I’ve given her some anti-emetics to settle her stomach”

“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “Into her _bone?_ Doesn’t that _hurt_?!”

“It sounds worse than it is,” Carlisle responds. “But look, she’s going to sleep, and she wouldn’t be doing that if she were in pain. I’m admitting her for fluid treatment and observation and she’ll need to stay here until her blood work is normal and she’s able to maintain her intake orally. We’ll move you upstairs in a moment, they’re just sorting out a room since we don’t want to put her on the ward with a contagious stomach virus. She was my last patient for the day, so I can stay with you for now.”

In my arms Holly feels limp and boneless, her eyes closing as she sinks into sleep. Carlisle rummages through the diaper bag and pulls out a blanket, draping it over her and tucking it under my arm. “Keep her warm.” For a moment he squeezes the back of my neck, tender and comforting. “Come on, let’s get the two of you settled upstairs.”

Edward says goodbye and heads home, but Carlisle stays with me as Holly is admitted to the paediatric wing. We’re given a small private room, and although there’s a metal hospital crib set up for her and she’s sound asleep, I can’t bear to put her down. I take a seat in the armchair, tucking the blanket more closely around her, and kiss her sleeping face.

“The nurses will come in and do her obs regularly, and I’ve left orders for her bloodwork to be repeated in a few hours,” Carlisle tells me. “They’ll be able to use that IV port though, so it won’t be an issue. You probably won’t get a lot of sleep, but that chair folds down and they’ll get you a blanket if you want to nap. Don’t worry about things at home; I’m going to drive out there now and Esme and I will take care of everything until you can get back.”

Hospitals are never really quiet, but the sounds outside the room are muffled and distant. I slide the armchair towards the window and sit with Holly in my arms, looking from her beautiful face to the sliver of the night sky I can see outside. Nearly five months on, the merciless agony of my grief has blunted edges, but the sorrow still feels inescapable.

_Baby Holly, last time I sat in a hospital room with you in my arms I thought your mom was coming back._

There’s a soft tap on the door, and then Angela comes in. “Hi,” she says with a smile. “I’ve brought you some dinner.” She holds up a bag. “Sandwiches. And Carlisle said he wasn’t sure when you’d be able to get home, so I put in your toothbrush and some deodorant and a clean t-shirt.”

“You didn’t have to do that; it’s not part of your job.”

“I didn’t do it because it’s part of my job,” Angela says gently. “I did it because I’m your friend.”

And she pulls up a chair and tells me that the other kids are doing fine, and that she brought some peanut butter and jelly because she realised that we were so busy cleaning up all the puke that we forgot to eat lunch. She holds Holly while I eat, and somehow being in the hospital seems a little more bearable with her by my side.


	33. Memories of Before

“Emmett? Where are you?”

“Just coming up from the basement!” I yell back. I heft the giant plastic tub up in my arms and carry it carefully up the stairs and into the living room.

“Did you call the paediatrician?” Angela asks, clearing some paper and crayons off the floor so I have space to put the tub down. Bram and Zeke immediately come over to investigate.

“Yes, and Holly’s last bloodwork was great – kidneys working at a hundred percent again. And I weighed her this morning and she’s back up over eighteen pounds, so I’d say she’s completely recovered, aren’t you Jellybean?” I grin at Holly, who drools and smiles back at me from inside the playpen. The effects of her severe bout of stomach flu had lingered, and the doctor had been monitoring her carefully. Today’s clear results were a welcome relief. “No more needles!”

“That’s great!” Angela says. She taps the plastic tub. “What’s in here?”

“Ski gear.” I unclip the lid and it immediately rises up as the down filled clothes inside expand. “All the kids’ snowsuits…if we’re going to go away for Easter I need to make sure they all have something that fits.” I pull out a purple ski jacket and check the tag, and then dig for the matching pants. “This was Daisy’s from last year – it should still fit.”

Angela kneels on the other side of the tub and pulls out an orange snowsuit, holding it up against Zeke. “This is an 18 to 24 month size – it should be okay for Bram or Zeke.”

“Well that one was Mac’s, so there should be another one the same size that Noah wore so the little twins will be covered.” I cast aside a pink bunting. “That was Daisy’s first snowsuit but it’s already too small for Holly…do you think this will work if I fold up the cuffs?” I hold up an all in one suit. “I don’t think she’ll be spending too much time hanging out in the snow, but she’ll need something. Blue or red? I’ve got two because of the twins.”

“Blue, it’ll match her eyes.” Angela rummages through the rainbow pile of snow gear. “Here’s the other 18 to 24 month size suit, but I don’t think you have anything that will fit Mac or Noah. They probably need the same size as Daisy now.”

“Yeah, they’ve both grown heaps since we last skied; I’ll have to go by the outdoor store and pick them up something new.” I comb through the pile of assorted mittens and gloves that have migrated to the bottom of the box, attempting to pair them. “As long as I have a left and a right it should be okay, shouldn’t it? It doesn’t matter if they’re not actually a match.”

“Will I be able to hire ski clothes and boots at the resort?” Angela asks.

“Yeah; we always go to the ski shop first thing and hire boots for the kids. Skis and stuff too – don’t worry about it.” I look at her. “You still want to come, right? I know it’s five days…but you won’t be stuck inside with the babies all the time, there’s childcare at the resort that we can use whenever we want so you’ll have plenty of breaks. You can go skiing and snowboarding, or chill out in the café or at the pool or library or whatever you want.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Angela assures me, adding with a nervous smile, “Although I’ve only ever been skiing a couple of times with school trips, so I’m not very good. My dad was a minister…we didn’t exactly go on ski resort vacations!”

I snort. “Yeah, my childhood wasn’t exactly ski slopes and luxury villas either! I didn’t even go with school; Rosalie taught me to ski when I was eighteen. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to ski, you can go sledding and make snowmen and have snowball fights with the kids and we’ll have a blast. Besides, you can pick it back up…Jack will hire an instructor to work with the big kids, and you can tag along with them. It’s really fun.”

“A private instructor? Really?” Angela looks a little overwhelmed.

I grimace. “Welcome to the world of the privileged. To be very blunt here, Rosalie’s parents are loaded and they will probably spend more money on this Easter ski weekend than I’ve made in the last two years. Airfares – and it’s first class all the way - then accommodation, ski instructors, childcare, restaurants and ski hire…it goes on.”

“You sound unhappy about that,” Angela looks at me carefully.

“It’s their money,” I say abruptly. “They can do whatever they want with it.”

After a pause, I go on in a more measured way. “It’s…difficult. My relationship with Rosalie’s parents is kind of complicated. They weren’t good parents to her – I mean, there was no abuse, and materialistically Rosalie got everything she ever wanted or needed and then extra on top of it, but emotionally it was…poor. And then Jack didn’t want her to marry so young, or at least not to me, and said some pretty harsh things about that – it’s not that I bear a grudge exactly, but it’s not something that that’s easy to forget either.” I shrug. “At the same time, they’ve been surprisingly good grandparents. They love the kids, and they’ve given them some amazing experiences. All the travel we’ve ever done has been with Jack and Lily, and they’ve done things like take Daisy to the Olympic trials for gymnastics and take them to Legoland. When Rosalie died Jack paid for everything while he was sorting out her estate, and even now he pays for health insurance for the kids and I, and subsidises what I pay you.” I hold out my hands helplessly. “It’s all still money, but it’s…I guess I accept now that it’s the best Jack knows how to do. It’s his version of love. And if that means I have six kids with fully paid up college funds before they’re out of diapers and I can spend two days in hospital with my baby daughter and only be out twenty bucks for vending machine coffees, then I just have to be grateful for what it is, and try and let go of what it’s not. And if they want to take the kids skiing…then I have to try and make it happen.”

“Well I suppose there are worse things,” Angela says with a sigh.

I grin. “Yeah…I’m sure we can put up with first class flights and luxury resort living for a couple of days while we ski!”

I bundle the spare snowsuits back into the tub and snap the lid on, and stuff the ones we’ll use into a heavy canvas bag. “I’ll grab my jacket and put it in here with the kids’ things,” I say. “I think I might just leave my skis at home and hire some this time – the amount of crap we’re going to need to haul through the airport is astronomical enough already without adding skis, and it’s not like I’m that good that rental equipment will hold me back!”

My stomach tightens a little as I go into the walk-in closet in my room, which is still full of Rosalie’s things. I still can’t bear to use it on a regular basis, and keep most of my clothes in messy heaps in the bedroom instead, but I haven’t worn ski gear since last Easter. Without looking around I find my boots and gather up my jacket and pants, and then pause for a moment, my eyes caught by Rosalie’s snow things still stacked on the shelf. Along with the outfits I remember her wearing there’s a new set, still with tags attached, that she’d bought in anticipation of our next trip. For a moment I stand still, undecided, before I take a deep breath and grab them.

“Here,” I say, dropping the coat and pants in Angela’s lap as I walk into the living room. “You may as well have these, and then you don’t have to worry about hiring any. I think they’ll fit okay.” I don’t look at her as I stuff my clothes into the bag with the kids’ things.

“Oh Emmett, are you sure?” Angela says uncertainly. “I don’t want…if it makes you uncomfortable…”

“Rosalie never wore them,” I cut in. “She bought them because we were supposed to go skiing at Christmas and then…it’s stupid for you to hire gear when there’s a brand new set just sitting there.” I try to smile. “Seriously, it’s fine, I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t. I’m really glad you’re coming with us…I’ve got to go to work now, but I’ll see you tonight.” I don’t wait for an answer.

I actually don’t know what I would have done about the ski vacation if Angela hadn’t accepted my invitation to come along. Even with all the private ski instructors and resort childcare and room service that Jack and Lily will throw at me, doing _anything_ with six children in an unfamiliar environment is so fraught with difficulty it borders on impossible. Just getting us onto the plane to fly to Whistler is a logistical nightmare. I pick up Angela on the way and we make use of the valet service to get the van parked in the lot, but we still have to haul six kids, three carseats, a canvas bag full of snowsuits, three suitcases, a diaper bag, four other carry-on bags and a double stroller through the airport from the kerb to the gate. Getting everyone through security is nothing short of an ordeal.

Once we’re on board the flight staff are fantastic. They board us ahead of the other passengers and help me juggle babies and get bags stowed away and carseats installed and kids buckled in, ready to go. During the flight they’re endlessly kind and helpful and attentive, heating Holly’s bottle for me and helping to keep the kids happy and distracted, and somehow always managing to appear with snacks and drinks at exactly the right moment. I feel a bit guilty for creating so much extra work, especially when they have to soothe several disgruntled passengers who board after us and are clearly unhappy to discover that half of first class looks like a childcare centre.

The kids are great on the flight though. They’re noisier than the usual run of first class, no doubt – they’re excited about their vacation and they talk a bit, but there’s no real screaming and any crying only lasts a few moments before I take care of it. The three older kids all have headphones for watching movies, and they’re quiet while they draw or read or shuffle through handfuls of Pokemon cards. Holly cries on take off until I find her pacifier, but that’s as difficult as she gets. Bram and Zeke are the most challenging, as they won’t wear headphones and have the attention span of a gnat, but between me, Angela, their siblings, the flight attendants and a random businessman who is crazy homesick for his own toddler and quite happy to temporarily adopt mine, we manage to keep them amused and (relatively) quiet and trouble-free for the majority of the flight time.

Jack has arranged a car (actually, a super stretch SUV limo that makes Mac’s eyes light up and Angela’s nearly bug out of her head) and we’re met at the gate by a driver holding a sign with my name on it. A driver who earns every cent of the tip I empty my wallet to give him when he takes in the situation and slings the diaper bag and Noah’s Pokemon backpack over one shoulder and then leads us out to the car carrying a sleeping Holly in her car seat and entertaining Mac with tales of all the cool cars he gets to drive. He helps me install all the car seats, produces three booster seats for the older kids, and then gives everyone an Easter egg before we head off on the next leg of the journey.

It’s a huge relief when we’re finally safely arrived in the family suite Jack’s booked for us at the resort. The kids run around exploring the rooms and jumping on beds while Angela feeds Holly and I do a quick sweep to remove everything that the little twins could either break, damage, or otherwise use to cause destruction. Remote controls, complimentary toiletries, breakable lamps, resort branded pens and pencils and souvenir mini bottles of vodka all safely out of reach, I flop down on the sofa with a yawn.

“This place is amazing,” Angela says. “It’s so beautiful outside! And I suppose after the first class flight and the limo I should have expected it, but I still can’t believe how gorgeous this suite is.”

I look out through the sliding glass doors to our private balcony and the view it offers of the winter wonderland outside, and smile. “Yeah, despite what a nightmare it is to get here with the kids, I’m glad we came. They’re going to have so much fun over the next couple of days! Rosalie and I used to ski a lot before we had kids, and I know she was looking forward to being able to go more as they got bigger.” I can’t stop a faintly regretful sign. Another one of the million things that will never happen now.

“When will we see Rosalie’s parents?” Angela asks, putting aside the empty bottle and sitting Holly up on her lap. “I thought they might have been on the same flight or something – are they staying in here with us?”

“No, they’ll be in some penthouse suite somewhere.” I laugh a little. “They’re not the personally helpful kind of grandparents…I mean, you noticed they didn’t book onto the same flight as us! They won’t exactly be hanging around in our room doing bath time and bedtime and making sure everyone’s snowsuits get hung up to dry. Jack will be at the kids’ ski lessons tomorrow morning, and Lily has promised to take Daisy and Noah to get manicures some afternoon, and they’ve actually booked us dinner tomorrow somewhere family friendly – as in, it will have high chairs and a menu I can read and chicken nuggets, which is much better than the places they used to drag Rosalie and I to where I had to wear a tie!”

Angela giggles. “And they don’t mind that I’m tagging along? I mean, I want to meet them and say thank you for the plane ticket and the ski hire and everything, but I don’t want to intrude on family time.”

“No, it’s fine, you’re more than welcome.” I yawn again. “God, I’m tired. I thought we’d just get room service for dinner tonight. I’ve put your things in one of the bedrooms, and put Mac and Noah and Daisy in next door. I’ll have the little ones with me so that I’ll wake up when they do and Bram and Zeke won’t be roaming around free. That could be a disaster.”

“I could take Holly,” Angela offers. “I don’t have to have a room of my own while you cram three kids into your bed!”

“It’s all right, they’ve already set up a crib in the main bedroom for her. She’s pretty good at night anyway, aren’t you Jellybean?” I smile affectionately at my baby and then look back at Angela. “You _really_ don’t have to work all the time while you’re here – I want you to have fun too. As well as the ski instructor every morning, Jack and Lily have sorted it so that we can leave the kids in the childcare whenever we need to so that we can do things with the big ones while the little ones are taken care of, or we can go skiing without worrying about them…it should be good.”

The kids come tumbling into the room, Mac and Daisy wearing white fluffy hotel robes that drag behind them like capes, pulling open all the cupboards and investigating all the drawers. They find the mini bar hidden in a cupboard and I tell them that if they shut the door and promise to never, ever let Bram and Zeke know that it’s in there they can crack open the can of Pringles they’ve found. Giggling, they share out the chips.

Noah climbs into my lap and offers me a pringle. “Did we come here with Mommy? I don’t remember.”

“Sure you remember!” I try not to sound as desperate as I feel. I’ve known from the day Rosalie died that Mac and Noah’s memories of her would be limited. But even as I welcome the softening effect time has had on their grief, watching their memories of their mother becoming hazier and more nebulous has been a particular kind of agony.

_Please don’t forget her…I’m not ready to have her fade away._

I try and grin at Noah. “We came here with Mommy for Easter last year too. You did skiing lessons and we went sledding and there was an Easter egg hunt out in the snow, and Daddy tried to follow Mommy down one of the trails and I fell into a snowdrift and she had to dig me out? Well, you didn’t see that bit but I know she told you about it! You remember that, right?”

Noah laughs. “Did that _really_ happen?”

“Yes! I was trying to be as a fast as Mom and I totally misjudged a turn and flew off the trail into a snowdrift. Mommy had to come and haul me out.” I laugh, remembering Rosalie’s exasperation and the way I’d pulled her down into the snow with me. I’d kissed her, and her lips had been cold and her tongue had been warm and the heat between us had been everything.

“Mom loved skiing, didn’t she?” Daisy says, bouncing onto the sofa beside me.

“She sure did.”

“Do you think she would be happy that we came skiing, even without her?” Noah fingers worry anxiously at his hair, although it’s too short for him to get a proper grip.

I gently hold his hand in mine. “I _know_ Mommy would be happy that we came skiing. She would never want you guys to be sad, or to miss out on something fun just because she’s not here. I am absolutely sure that she would be glad that we’ve come back here this year, to spend some time with Grandpa Jack and Grammy Lily and have fun. She really loved seeing you guys enjoying yourself last year…look, I’ll show you some pictures.”

I grab my phone and flip back through the camera roll until I hit the previous Easter. “Aww look…Bram and Zeke were so little! Holly must have been growing in Mom’s belly already, only we didn’t know it yet. And here you guys are, skiing, and here’s the Easter egg hunt…”

The kids crowd around to look at the photos and videos, and for once looking at the pictures on my phone brings laughter and not tears. I shore up their memories with this evidence of what it was like, and get them excited about what’s to come. And my heart aches because Rosalie isn’t here but _oh Rosa-girl, it was good for so long, WE were so good…I love that I had that._


	34. Stories and Skiing

Holly wakes me early the next morning. I grab a bottle and bring her into bed with me, tucking her into the curve of my shoulder as I feed her. Her blue eyes are fastened on mine, and I can’t help but smile at her.

“Funny to think you were here with us last year,” I say softly. “Probably only about as big as a green bean, hiding away there in your momma’s belly.”

For a moment I think about the placenta growing alongside her, and wonder if even that early on it was burrowing its way so deep into Rosalie’s womb that the story of her end was already written. I’ve never asked; I don’t know when things slipped beyond normal and what happened became an inevitability. But I push the thought away, focusing only on the soft, milky warmth of the beautiful baby living and breathing beside me.

“We didn’t know you were there. We wouldn’t even find out about you for another month or so; I wonder if one day you’ll think we were idiots for that? Probably! You’d been growing in there for eighteen weeks before we noticed…but you were such a surprise, baby girl! After everything, we didn’t even imagine that you were possible…”

My voice trails away as I realise that this is the first time I’ve ever started to put Holly’s story into words for her. She’s a baby and can’t understand, but that never stopped me when the others had been tiny. Right from the start I had talked to them, telling my babies how much they had been loved and wanted, and what we had gone through for them. Daisy’s adoption, the IVF treatments that had given us both sets of twins…we had always told their stories.

_Even before we knew you, we wanted you. You didn’t come easily, we went through so much to get you, and we did it because we needed you. Our family needed you…you were always, always, wanted and always, always loved._

Holly’s story is different. She came to us out of the blue, with none of the yearning and heartache and struggle of our other pregnancies. We weren’t even looking, and yet she came to us and that unexpected pregnancy had felt like a gift.

“We spent nine years not being able to make a baby on our own,” I say, my voice low. “We’d given up on it even being a possibility…and suddenly there you were. Rosalie called you her miracle, and said you were meant to be.” I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I smile at the baby and drop a light kiss onto the top of her head. “And yeah, your birth might have turned into a tragedy…but your existence is still a miracle, and you need to know that.”

She smiles at me around her bottle, her blue eyes thoughtful, and on the other side of her Bram and Zeke begin to stir into wakefulness. They’re delighted to find me tucked into bed with them, and they crawl over Holly and start climbing on me, gleefully sticking fingers into my nose and ears and laughing at my protests. This is not exactly restful, so as soon as Holly’s done I unzip all three of them from their sleep sacks and start getting us ready for the day.

The three older kids are already awake, although they’re still tucked up in bed watching cartoons and taking full advantage of the novelty of having a tv in their room. Bram and Zeke excitedly climb into Daisy’s bed with her, and she promises to watch them for me while I have a quick shower. I leave Holly in the crib with some toys and shut myself in the bathroom, having the quickest shower known to mankind. For a moment I think wistfully of long, hot showers, just standing there with my thoughts, but then I hear Holly’s plaintive wail from next door and turn off the water with a sigh. Maybe in another five or so years?

Holly just didn’t like being alone, and as soon as I reappear in the bedroom she’s all smiles. I hand back the toys she’s dropped through the crib bars and start looking for some clothes.

“Emmett?” Angela calls through the door. “Can I come in? I’ve got Bram and Zeke and we need some diapers.”

“Hang on…yes, fine,” I hastily zip up my pants and slip into a shirt before Angela comes in, the two little boys bounding ahead of her. “Hey, how are you?”

“Great.” Angela looks through the suitcase I’ve got sitting open on the luggage rack. “Mac and Noah were asking about breakfast so I told them to get dressed while I did the little twins and then we can go down to the dining room.”

“Cool.” I sit down and pull on some socks, and then change Holly’s diaper and pull a sweater on over her sleeper. “Do you think five months is too old to live in pyjamas all day?” I ask Angela, who is changing Bram on the bed beside me. “I think Rosalie would hate it; she was all about dressing the babies in little coordinated outfits, and she was always sticking those stupid enormous bows on Daisy’s head. Am I just being lazy and hopeless by putting the kid in a romper or onesie ninety-five percent of the time?”

“I think it’s okay,” Angela says, after considering Holly for a moment. “Rompers are practical for a little baby who naps a lot and is just learning to roll over. Holly has some pretty fancy rompers too, and all the hand-knitted sweaters from your mom are adorable. I think you’re fine. Honestly, I’d wear pyjamas all day if it was socially acceptable.” She looks at me, slightly amused. “Were you really worrying about this?”

I shrug a little self-consciously as I fasten a clean diaper on Zeke and pull down his onesie. “Not exactly, but…sometimes it’s the little things, you know? I know it’s stupid that it matters – surely with all the grief and trauma for the kids, and Mac’s dyslexia and Noah pulling his hair out and all that you’d think I have enough BIG stuff to deal with that stupid shit like clothes wouldn’t even matter. I mean really, who cares? But actually, _Rosalie_ cared, and sometimes I feel like I’m letting her down if I don’t give a fuck about the small shit too.”

“Shit,” Zeke says, grinning at me. “Shit!”

“None of that!” I say, yanking a sweater over his head. “You’re not helping Daddy look good when you’ve got seven words and two of them are curse words! That’s something that I know for _sure_ Mommy would be very unhappy about!”

Angela fits a pair of soft baby shoes onto Bram and puts him down on his feet. “I don’t think Rosalie would be unhappy with what you’re doing,” she says. “Whether it’s exactly what she would have done or not…you’re doing a good job.”

__________________________________________

It’s a good morning. We enjoy the breakfast buffet, and then I drop Bram, Zeke and Holly off at the resort childcare room and get everyone else dressed in snow gear and fitted out with boots and skis before we meet with Jack and the ski instructor he’s hired, Cecile.

The kids haven’t skied for a year, but Cecile turns out to be a great teacher and they pick up where they left off pretty quickly. Daisy has superb strength and balance after all her years of gymnastics, and is a natural talent on skis. Mac is determined to keep up with her though and, with apparently no sense of either fear or self-preservation, hurtles down the bunny slope after her like he’s being chased by wolves. Noah is more cautious, but he’s pretty athletic in general and is soon having a great time sliding down the slopes after the other two. Angela takes in the lesson too, and after a few runs that end with her skidding down most of the slope on her butt (much to the kids’ amusement) she starts to find her feet. I’m surprised but kind of pleased when Jack spends the entire morning with the kids, helping them with their technique in the lesson and afterwards taking Daisy to test out her skills on a more challenging slope. I stay with Mac and Noah, racing them down the hillside and throwing snowballs at them, letting them pummel me in return until we’re all wet and snowy and laughing. I love seeing them so happy.

We collect the babies from the creche and eat lunch at the lodge, everyone gobbling down toasted sandwiches and hot chocolates, warming up from the inside out as fingers thaw out and snow suits leave damp patches under the table. When no one can eat another bite we head upstairs to our room to get into dry clothes and hang up all the snowsuits and jackets and ski pants to dry.

“These babies all need afternoon naps,” Angela tells the big kids. “And you guys are probably pretty tired after skiing all morning, so why don’t you watch a movie and have a rest too? Then later this afternoon we can take Bram and Zeke outside to play in the snow, and maybe try out the toboggan hill?”

No one objects to this plan, so I cue up Star Wars for the big kids to watch and then leave Angela feeding Holly while I take Bram and Zeke into the bedroom. They’re exhausted after a morning playing in the childcare and there’s not even a token protest when I stretch out on the bed and tuck them in beside me. They snuggle up against me and I wrap my arms around both of them, stroking my fingers across two sets of rosy cheeks as their eyes slowly blink closed.

I don’t move even when they’re asleep. I’ve always loved holding my sleeping babies. I love the warm weight of it, the feel of beating hearts and warm damp breath against my chest. I love knowing that held in my arms they are happy and loved and safe. Lying there in the comfortable hotel bed with light flurries of snow drifting past the window, I look at the slumbering faces of my little boys and think about how good the morning had been outside with my big kids, and I feel myself smile. It’s been a good day.

I try to cling on to that feeling. I really do. I try to focus on the contentment of this moment with the sleeping babies, I try to remember the morning out in the snow – the beauty of the mountains, the pleasure I got from the physical exertion of skiing, the enjoyment of watching my kids gaining mastery and skill, the fun of throwing snowballs and making them laugh. I can feel it drifting away, and I try desperately to hold on to the feeling of lightness. I don’t want to be sad right now. It’s been five and a half months – can’t I just have _one_ day where it’s okay? Haven’t I earned that by now?

But it doesn’t work like that. Because the grief might loosen its grip for a time, but it is always there, waiting for a moment when I leave my heart unguarded to come roaring back with a vengeance.

_Hey, remember your dead wife? Remember Rosalie? Remember the way you love her? Remember the way she bore your baby and then she bled to death and now you’re ALONE? Remember that?_

It washes over me again, through me again, the endless black darkness of sorrow. This time though, there aren't any tears. Just bleakness that this is the way it is, the way it will _always_ be, and there is nothing I can do but endure.

The door creaks open and Angela pads through the room in her socks, whispering, "I'm just putting Holly in the crib." She tucks the blanket around the baby and then turns to leave, pausing when she sees my face. "Are you okay?"

I can't say anything around the paralysing tightness of my throat. And after a moment's hesitation Angela sits down on the bed, propping a pillow behind her as she leans against the headboard and smiles at me sympathetically. "Tough day I guess?"

"Actually, it's been great!" My laugh is halfway to a sob. "The skiing was fun, and the kids have been so funny and…yeah. Tough day." My voice drops and I smooth a hand down Bram's back as he stirs against me.

"I thought it would be hard for you here," Angela says. "Just because this is something you used to do with Rosalie."

"It's weird how that is," I say, keeping my voice quiet so I don't wake the babies. "It's hard to do things we used to do together because it makes me miss her, and yet it's also hard to do new things that we never did because that just makes me feel bad that she's not here. Lose-lose either way."

"I think it's good for the kids that you came here though. It was really lovely seeing them laughing last night over the photos from last year, strengthening the good memories they have of doing things with their mom. And they've been having so much fun! They're making new memories, and you're showing them that you're still a family who can do fun and exciting things together and be happy," Angela says.

I ease away from the sleeping twins and sit up too. "Truth is, I had a really fun morning. I love watching the kids have a good time, and they all did so well skiing! Rosalie would have loved it. I was feeling great and then it all just…I don't know. I hate sounding like I'm whining but fuck it…I'm so _tired_ of this. It's exhausting to be so goddamn miserable."

"There's no way to hurry the process though," Angela says. "It is what it is. And despite what it might feel like, you _are_ making progress; I can see that. Look at how much you enjoyed this morning – you were laughing and having a great time outside with the kids, and were able to really enjoy the moment. A few months ago, when I first started working for you, you wouldn't have been able to do that. It's just that those good moments are sometimes not as noticeable as the grief is when it comes crashing back down."

I swallow hard. I recognise the truth in what she's saying, but that doesn't make the bleakness any easier to bear. And once again, the same contradictory feelings flare up inside to torment me.

_I don't want to feel this way anymore. I can't bear it. I hate it. Please make it stop._

_I can't let this pain go. I can't bear the thought of not feeling your loss so acutely. I'm terrified that one day I won't feel it, and I'll start forgetting._

Angela leans over and tucks Holly's blanket in a little more tightly. "You weren't too upset when we picked up the babies from the child care and the worker called me mommy were you? I thought you looked a little…underwhelmed by that."

I shrug. It had felt like a punch in the gut in the moment, when we'd walked into the child care room and the girl reading books with Zeke had looked up and said brightly, "Hey, here's your Daddy and Mommy!", but not really for the reason Angela might be concerned about.

"No, it wasn't a big deal," I say. "Not in the way you mean. Mostly it was the look on Zeke's face when the worker said mommy…the word barely means anything to him now. 'Mommy' is just a picture on the wall to him, and that's…I really hate that. I'm trying so hard to keep the memory of Rosalie alive for Daisy and Mac and Noah, and it kills me that the babies will only ever really have 'mommy' as an idea, not as their reality." I sigh heavily. "As for people assuming you're their mom – well, I know that the way things are that's inevitable. You're a woman in her thirties, you're literally the same age as their mom was, if people see you taking care of a baby of course they're going to think it's yours. Especially the way you are with them."

"I correct people," Angela says quickly. "If someone says something to me, I always tell them I'm the nanny. I don't want to cross any boundaries so if you think I am you need to tell me."

"I didn't mean that," I say. "I like the way you are with the kids."

I don't want Angela to change anything. She's always professional and has never done anything to overstep, but she cares for my children with the kind of loving affection that is something I desperately want for them. "You don't pretend you're their mom, but you don't take care of them like it's nothing but a duty either. You give them a lot of yourself…I see that and I appreciate it."

"Nannying can be a hard balance sometimes," Angela admits. "I love the kids I work with, but I always have to remember that my role is to be the nanny, not the mother. It's harder with your kids though because they don't _have_ a mom anymore, and sometimes the lines feel blurred."

"It's working though," I say, looking from the twins sleeping peacefully in between us to Holly in the crib and realising that it's true. "The way you are with them, whatever you're doing…it's working. The big kids are getting more settled; Mac hasn't been in any trouble recently and Noah's hair is…well, if it's not growing back yet, it's not getting any worse either. Daisy's doing great. And Bram and Zeke and Holly are thriving."

Angela grins. "I'm glad because honestly, I really do love your kids and I want to keep doing this job. I'm in it for the long haul now."


	35. A Little Bit of You

“Well you’ve saved my ass when it comes to managing this circus and I’ve got no plans to fire you, so it’s all good.” I crack a smile. “In all seriousness, I really love what you’re doing for the kids. Especially with the babies – you’re really good with them. You’re professional, but you really make them feel like…you make them feel loved. And I can tell…I know you were a really good mom.”

“Thank you,” Angela gazes at the snow falling out of the window and says slowly, “It was Micah’s birthday last week. He would have been eight years old…he’s been gone longer than he was with me.”

“You should have told me,” I say, with a flash of guilt that I missed such an important milestone after all the care and support Angela has shown to me. “You could have had the day off, or we could have had a cake or something if you wanted to mark the day. The kids would have been happy to do that. I know how much you must miss him.”

“That’s okay. I know I could have told you, but I really just wanted it to be a regular day as much as possible. I went to the cemetery on my way home in the evening, and that was enough for this year,” Angela says. “Maybe next year I’ll do something else…the way I want to handle those milestone days like birthdays and anniversaries changes a lot with time. You’re still in the first year and that’s really hard, but you’ll see it too.”

“There are options other than wanting to get blind drunk and not think about any of it?”

Angela smiles gently. “A year and a day. My dad said that to me at one point, that I needed to get through a year and a day to experience all those first birthdays and anniversaries and milestones without Micah. Not that it would necessarily be _easier_ after that, but at least I would know that I’d been there and survived it.”

_All those firsts without Rosalie – we’ve had the little twins’ first birthday without her, our first Christmas without her, this is our first Easter without her. It’s been brutal, and there’s still so much coming up…there will be birthdays for Daisy and me and Mac and Noah to celebrate without her. There will be Rosalie’s birthday. The first wedding anniversary I’ll have to endure alone, and then…_

Beyond it all looms the anniversary of her death, a day that will also mark Holly’s first birthday, and the thought of that is enough to make my heart stop.

“I guess it’s all just a matter of surviving it,” I say, feeling flat. “Moment by moment as Esme says.”

“Survival at first,” Angela acknowledges. “But there’s more to life than that. There are always bad days, and you will never be quite the same, but there’s more than just survival. You felt it today, out in the snow with the kids – that was joy and not just endurance, and you’ll feel it more and more often as time goes by.”

She makes me believe her, with her serious brown eyes and thoughtful smile, and for a moment misery eases its grip on my heart and I feel again the lightness of laughing and wrestling in the snow with my boys.

“Did you ever think about having more kids?” I ask curiously. “Either before you lost Micah, or maybe afterwards? Or was it one and done for you?”

“Oh, I always wanted more,” Angela says. “Patrick and I had started talking about trying for a second but then Micah died and Patrick was injured and…well, here I am. I would love to have another baby one day, but I don’t know that it’s really in the cards for me.”

“It’s not as though it’s too late,” I say. “You’ve got heaps of time to meet someone and have more kids! I’m certainly not trying to get rid of you or anything, but don’t let us stop you from living your life. I don’t know how these things work anymore – I met Rosalie in homeroom, for fuck’s sake - but maybe you could get your friends to fix you up with someone, or try internet dating or something? Tinder? Grindr? One of them’s only for dudes though, Liam – my apprentice - is always on it, but I forget which one…”

Angela bellows with laughter, clapping her hands over her mouth to muffle the noise when one of the twins stirs. “Oh Emmett! I appreciate the sentiment here, but internet dating is…do you _know_ what that’s like?”

“Not exactly…I thought it was what everyone did? Liam seems to do all right on it, he’s got the most active social life of anyone I know.”

“Yes, it works out for a lot of people but my experiences were absolutely mortifying. I had a couple of dates with some guys who were basically reasonable human beings, but there was also an overwhelming number of truly awful pick-up lines and an absolutely unbelievable number of guys sending me pictures of their…equipment.”

Angela’s face is bright red, and now I’m the one laughing. “Oh no, really?”

“Yes, really!” Angela giggles. “Hot tip Emmett, when you move on to dating again an unsolicited picture of your genitals is _NEVER_ going to yield results! I don’t care how nice it is, or how well you think know how to use it…”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I shake my head, laughing silently. “God, I just can’t…I’m going to be single for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, it’s way too soon to say that,” Angela says comfortably. “There’s no rush, but don’t write it off yet. Not just for yourself, but for the kids…there could be someone out there for all of you, and they could have a mother again.”

I grimace. “I don’t think so. My childhood experience of ‘replacement’ parents was absolute shit. I mean, my bio dad was basically a sperm donor and that’s it, but then my stepdad beat the crap out of me on a regular basis, and all the other random guys fucked me and Alice over in all kinds of ways so…”

“But that doesn’t have to happen,” Angela points out. “You were adopted by Carlisle and Esme, and they’re amazing.”

I nod. “I know they are; we were really lucky. But it’s such a huge risk, and I don’t think I could take it. My kids already lost so much, and I can’t do anything that might hurt them again. Even _if_ there was some woman who wanted something…I can’t see it. I can’t see myself with anyone but Rosalie, and I couldn’t be with someone knowing that they were only ever going to get half of me. She would be living in the shadow of a ghost, always, and that isn’t fair.”

Angela reaches across the bed and for a moment her warm hand covers mine. “That’s okay. Maybe you’ll never meet anyone you want to try again with. But it’s still early days, and I just think you shouldn’t completely close yourself off to the possibilities – for all of you.”

“You sound like Alice.” I smile wryly. “She thinks there should be a line of women knocking on my door, desperate to heal my broken heart and play mommy to my little crew of almost-orphans. And that part, with the kids…maybe one day I would try, for them, because I wish more than anything that they had a mom. I have Esme, so I know from experience that someone doesn’t have to have given birth to you to be your mother in the ways that count. So if I could get that for them…but I can’t. It would feel dishonest even to try. To be with someone just because I want a mother for my kids would be wrong. And someone who wanted to be a mother might want their own baby, and I can’t do that. Absolute dealbreaker…I will never be responsible for making someone pregnant again.”

“Pregnancy…you don’t blame yourself for what happened to Rosalie, do you?” Angela is watching me carefully.

“I don’t exactly blame myself.” I pick at a callous on my knuckles. “But I don’t exactly _not_ blame myself either. I mean, you can’t get away from the fact that she died giving birth to a baby that I put in her.”

Angela frowns. “She wanted the baby though. It wasn’t something you did _to_ her…you made a baby together, and Rosalie wanted her.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I keep telling myself that. And it’s true, more or less…but it doesn’t mean that I will ever put myself, or any woman I was with, in that position again.”

“Would you and Rosalie have had more kids?”

“Are you joking?” I nearly choke on my laughter. “You live my life…you don’t think that six kids are enough?!”

Angela giggles. “It’s certainly a lot! But some people want big families and you _did_ have six, so maybe you would have just kept going? I don’t like to assume anything!”

“No.” I shake my head emphatically. “We would definitely _not_ have kept going – we never meant to have this many in the first place! Rosalie and I both wanted a big family, we thought that would be great, but we thought…maybe four kids. Although for a while we didn’t even know if we’d get any. We were trying for over a year without anything happening before the opportunity came up to adopt Daisy. We did IVF after that, and on the third try we got Mac and Noah. We wouldn’t have gone through the whole process for a fourth baby after that - Rosalie reacted pretty badly to the drugs and it wouldn’t have been a good idea – but we still had some embryos sitting on ice so we thought we might as well give it a try. We transferred them singly though, so we were wouldn’t risk another twin pregnancy, but Bram and Zeke kind of surprised us there. Not as much as Holly surprised us six months later though, when we realised that we’d somehow fluked a naturally occurring pregnancy! I mean, we’re talking nine years of infertility, tens of thousands of dollars on adoption lawyers and IVF and yet…hey, you’re four months pregnant with your sixth baby, surprise!” I smile ruefully. “So the planned four kids turned into six, but believe me, we were done.”

“Wow, you went through a lot to have them all,” Angela says. “I had no idea that Daisy was adopted, or that you needed so much intervention. I wouldn’t have guessed – I look at all the photos up on your walls and your family looks so perfect. You and Rosalie make it look easy.”

“No, never easy. But worth it.” Under my hand, Bram’s back rises and falls with his steady breathing. “We adopted Daisy from my sister Alice and Jasper - they’re her bio parents, they were still in high school when she was born.”

“Well that explains why Jasper looked so familiar then!” Angela says. “When I met him I couldn’t shake the feeling that I recognised him, and it drove me nuts because I couldn’t figure it out. But it wasn’t him at all, it was Daisy.”

“Yeah, she’s always looked like him, apart from being a tiny little speck like Alice. But she got a lot of her personality from Rosalie.” I look up at a sound and see Mac peering around the door. “Hey pal, what’s up?”

Mac’s eyes are gleaming. “Remember those Pringles we ate? I just looked in the closet and there’s more!”

I smother a laugh. “Yeah, they replace them.” I swing my legs off the bed and stand up, stretching. “We can eat them if you want. Angie…you hungry?”

She nods and stands up too, and then we go and join the big kids for snacks and Star Wars in the living room. While the grief is still there, the hollow feeling of loss and aloneness lurking in the background, I snuggle on the sofa with the big twins and don’t let it stop me from embracing the peace.

We spend five days on the mountain, and they’re good days. I can’t avoid the irregular waves of sadness that wash over me or escape the feeling of something missing, but I do my best to enjoy what we have and give the kids a good time.

Daisy, Mac and Noah have skiing lessons each morning with Jack and Angela and I along for the ride, and even in a couple of days I can see the kids’ skills improving. We go snowboarding too, and tobogganing, and spend hours out in the freezing air building snowmen and snow castles and forts and pummelling each other with snowballs. Bram and Zeke are too little to ski, but we bundle them up in snowsuits and mittens and hats until they look like walking gummi bears and take them out to play in the snow too. Once they get used to it they love stomping around and flinging handfuls of snow at each other and at me, once I crouch down so that they can hit my face. The big kids introduce them to tobogganing on the short, gentle slope the resort sets up for little ones and they love it, laughing and screaming as they slide slowly down and then begging to do it again and again. There’s an Easter egg hunt that all the children participate in enthusiastically, nearly making themselves sick with the amount of chocolate that they scarf down afterwards. We watch movies and play board games and drink gallons of hot chocolate.

Jack and Lily spend time with the kids every day. They take them skiing when the lessons are over, exploring all the slopes that the kids’ skills (and nerve) are appropriate for. Lily offers to take them to the salon and, although Mac refuses because he doesn’t like ‘fancy things’, Daisy and Noah both go and get mani-pedis and come back thrilled with their sparkly nails. Jack and Lily even break the habits of a lifetime and actually take us out to eat at places with laminated menus and chicken nuggets and crayons on the table, instead of the usual silver service places they like to frequent. The kids love it all, and lap up all the extra attention. I see how much Jack and Lily are trying, and even though I appreciate it I can’t help but wish that they’d made this kind of effort when Rosalie needed it too.

On the last afternoon I leave the kids napping and watching tv with Angela in charge and go out onto the slopes alone. I take a few runs, skiing fast and recklessly, feeling my way and wishing with every beat of my heart that Rosalie was with me. She was the one who first took me skiing, who taught me how to do it, and it’s impossible for me to be out on the slopes without feeling her absence. I find my eyes drawn to women who could be Rosalie, the ones skiing fast and skilfully, blonde hair flying out below woolly hats as they race down the hillside. I don’t know if it’s the memories or the wind whipping across my face that’s causing the tears that freeze on my eyelashes.

_I miss you Rosa-girl. I wish one of them WAS you. I wish I was following you down this mountain, fast and wild and crazy daring because I know that when I catch you I’ll be able to wrap my arms around you and kiss you in the snow. You’d laugh, and I would kiss you again and it would be beautiful because you were beautiful, WE were beautiful…_

I head to the start of another run, a challenging one that’s probably more risk than I should be taking, and wait for a gap in the other skiers. I push off hard, bending low to gather momentum, moving faster and faster until the adrenaline kicks in and I feel my heart lift. _I love this._ I’m barely in control as I careen down the slope, but I don’t hold back.

It’s like I can hear Rosalie in my head, the familiar mix of affectionate exasperation, teasing me for my recklessness and admonishing me to at least _try_ not to break anything. I laugh into the wind and, just for a moment, for the first time since she died I feel like she’s still with me. The feeling is like a gift, and even when my headlong run ends in an inglorious wipe out in front of everyone waiting for the chairlift, the grin doesn’t leave my face. I simply stagger to my feet and bow theatrically to the amused audience.

_She’s still with me. Still there in my heart, not in a way that can only hurt, but in a way that makes me feel like I’m not alone._

It feels good, like something warm and kind and soothing held deep inside me, and even when I walk back into pure chaos with the kids it’s a feeling that doesn’t fully leave me.

Not when I walk into the suite to discover Mac with a bandaged wrist and an ice pack held on his head, and Bram sitting on the floor surrounded by the entire contents of the minibar. Not when Angela tells me (in rising tones of hysteria and interjecting apologies after every second word) that Mac locked himself in the bathroom and jammed the lock so that she had to call maintenance to come and free him. Not when she goes on to say that Mac tried chin ups on the towel rail while he was trapped and tore it right out of the wall and clocked himself on the head with it and twisted his wrist. Not when she tells me that while she was dealing with maintenance and calling the doctor to check on Mac’s head Bram found the mini bar and tore into every single snack food in there, and that Zeke discovered the unlocked suite door and made a break for freedom and was brought back by housekeeping. Not when Angela and I look down and see that the previously fairly immobile Holly has chosen right now to figure out how to roll and wriggle and squirm to make some real distance in getting across the floor, and is now right in the middle of the middle of Bram’s mini-bar party and trying to feed herself cookies.

“Remember that for the baby book,” I say, scooping Holly up and fishing through her mouth for the remains of her treat. “First food – chocolate chip cookies.”

And I laugh, because what else am I supposed to do? I reassure Angela that it’s okay, I’m not going to fire her because she had a bad afternoon, that things happen and I don’t blame her. I listen to Mac tell me about his sprained wrist and admire the cantaloupe-sized lump on his forehead. Angela and I clean up the mini bar carnage, and I add up what Bram and Zeke have managed to destroy and feel briefly and intensely thankful that it’s Jack and not me who is going to pay the bill for it. I watch Holly through the evening for any signs of a reaction to her unapproved first solid foods, and for once seeing Rosalie in her little baby face brings lightness instead of sorrow.

_You’re still here Rosa-girl. In me, in Holly, in all of them…I still have at least a little bit of you._


	36. Picture I Never Got to Take

“Emmett, that’s fucking fantastic…you’re a legend!” My client twists in front of the mirror, trying to see their finished tattoo from every angle. “It looks awesome.”

I grin, stretching my arms to relax my shoulders. I’ve just worked eight hours on that piece and my back is killing me. “Yeah, it came up well.”

Jonah finishes ringing up his own client out the front and comes wandering back into my section. “You all done? How’d it come out?” He examines the skeletal creature I’ve inked across the client’s back and raises an eyebrow at me. “You’d better get a good photo of that one…brilliant work.” He smiles easily at the client. “You’d be happy with that, then?”

“Yeah, for sure!”

Jonah hangs around chatting while I finish cleaning and wrapping the new tattoo and sorting out the aftercare instructions and payment. Once the client leaves he flops down into my chair with a sigh, and watches me as I do my clean up routine.

“You did a good job on that one,” he remarks, leafing idly through the sketchbook I’d left on the bench with a variety of skeletons and spectres I’d been sharing with the client. There’s a faint frown on his face but his voice is deliberately casual as he says, “I can’t help noticing that there’s been a bit of a darker edge in some of your work lately…you doing okay?”

I shrug and start slotting all the inks back into place. “Yeah. More or less.”

“Don’t take me wrong,” Jonah says hastily. “You’ve been creating some outstanding pieces lately. I know you hardly need my approval anymore, you’re not exactly my wee apprentice these days, but I’ve got to say you’ve been blowing me away with what you’ve been doing recently. You’ll have to start charging more.”

I smile as I switch on the autoclave. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been doing this, Jonah’s approval is always going to mean a lot. He’s still one of the most talented artists I’ve ever met, and I’ve never been anything less than grateful at how lucky I was to apprentice under him, and then work alongside him for so many years. “Thanks.”

“I mean that about your pricing,” Jonah goes on, rising to his feet. “You should charge what you’re worth, and you seriously underrate yourself. The only reason you’re not as well-known as you should be is because you’ve been working so part time over the past few years because of the kiddos. But you’ve been putting in some really solid hours the last few months, and your reputation is getting out there. On that, have you checked your Instagram recently?”

“No. I thought I’d probably post today’s ink though.” I reach for my phone. “Why?”

“That girl you tattooed last week – the Medusa piece – turns out she has over a hundred thousand followers on Instagram and she’s tagged you and the shop. I’m already fielding calls and emails,” Jonah grins. “With the convention coming up…this could prove to be very good for you.”

“Oh wow.” I switch on my phone and let out a low whistle as I see the recent spike in my Instagram followers. “I didn’t even realise. She told me she was in marketing…mostly we talked about pets. She’s got three cats and a ball python and an African grey parrot, and she thought Clementine sounded great…” I notice that I’ve missed a couple of calls from Edward, and I dial into message bank.

“Well Instagram is nearly all bloody marketing,” Jonah mutters, and I hide my grin. Jonah has always recognised the potential of social media and utilises it to full advantage to get our work out there, but he’s not exactly a fan. “I’ve got a few things to work on here still. Are you heading off now?” he asks.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” Edward’s message only says to call him, so I hang up as I glance at the clock. It’s getting late, and although Carlisle and Esme are happy to take over from Angela in the evenings sometimes so I can work these longer sessions, I know they’ll be tired by now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Walking out to the van I call Edward. “Hey, what’s up?”

“He’s here.” I can hear the smile in Edward’s voice. “Bella had the baby today, a boy. We’re calling him Robert…Rob.”

I feel like the breath has been knocked out of my body. “I…wow, that’s great, congratulations! I didn’t know…I thought it wasn’t happening until next week? Wasn’t it a scheduled c-sec? Is Bella okay?”

“Bella’s fine, it all went fine,” Edward says, quick to reassure me. “It was scheduled for next week, but there were a few things found at her last check-up that weren’t ideal so we decided to move it up. I didn’t tell you because…well, I thought I’d wait and tell you afterwards, when it was all over and done with. No need for you to worry.”

How typically Edward, to try and shield me from worrying even when he must have been going out of his mind with it! But I think about birth, and Bella’s face morphs into Rosalie’s, and I see again blood in a birth pool and life leaching away, so impossibly fragile…and I take a seat in the van, feeling sick and shaky and passionately grateful that Edward spared me the fear.

“It all went just like it was supposed to,” Edward says. “Textbook c-section. We went in early this morning and Bella was back in her room and nursing the baby by lunchtime. He’s perfect Em. His Apgars were great, he weighs seven pound eight…he’s got red hair.”

“Ah Edward, that’s great. I’m so happy for you. A boy! Is Eliza happy to have a brother?”

Edward laughs. “She wanted a sister – “baby like Holly” she always told us – but Esme brought her in this afternoon and she was so cute with him. I think it’s going to be fine.”

“She’s going to be a great big sister,” I say. “I’m really happy for you, and I can’t wait to see him.”

“Thanks. Look, I’m going to have to go,” Edward says. “Rob’s crying and with her incision Bella needs some help with feeding. But I wanted to be the one to tell you about him. I’ll send you through a picture.”

“Give Bella a big hug and congratulations from me. I love you guys.”

I hang up, and a second later my phone beeps with a message as he sends me a picture. Edward and Bella, heads pressed close together to fit into the frame, a bundled newborn held tenderly between them and smiles that come from the heart.

It’s a photo I’ve seen a million times. The same one everyone takes and texts to family and friends and posts on Facebook and Instagram and work notice boards; _Mom, Dad, and baby._ There are always variations – Edward and Bella are wearing scrubs and a hospital gown because it was a surgery, Rosalie and I had two babies sandwiched in between us when it was the twins, but what the picture lacks in originality it always makes up for in heart. _Look at our baby. Look at our new family. Look at this moment of pure, perfect, love and see how happy we are!_

It’s a photo I never got to take when Holly was the newborn.

For a long moment I sit, staring at the photo and feeling the hollowness grow in my chest, before I can bring myself to start the van and head for home.

The house is quiet when I walk in. The kids are all in bed, and Carlisle is in the living room watching baseball on tv and playing Candy Crush on the iPad.

“Hey.” I drop onto the sofa beside him. “Evening go okay?”

Carlisle puts aside the iPad. “Yes, no problems at all. Angela had dinner on and was doing homework when I arrived, so I helped her finish that up before we ate. Holly ate some beets, which Angela said was new, but she seemed to like them. Everyone had a bath or shower, and bedtime went off easily – I think they were all tired. Dinner was chicken and vegetables done in the slow cooker by the way, and there’s a bowl left for you in the fridge if you want it.”

“Yeah,” I say, but I don’t get up. “Esme not here?”

“She had to look after Eliza today.” Carlisle hesitates. “Have you talked to Edward?”

“The baby? Yeah.” I try to smile. “Rob…I think it’s great. I’m glad it all went well. Have you seen them?”

“Yes, Esme and I took Eliza into the hospital this afternoon, after Bella was all settled and rested after the surgery. Robert’s lovely – looks just like Edward, right down to the dark red hair and the worried look on his face! Edward and Bella are just thrilled.”

“I think it’s really great.” I lean my head back against the sofa and close my eyes, wondering dully if my tone sounded as unconvincing to Carlisle as it did to me. 

Not that I’m lying. I _do_ think it’s great, and I _am_ happy for Edward and Bella and Eliza. I like babies, and the idea of my brother Edward with his own little mini-me just about turns my heart inside out.

But the joy over this baby’s birth only reminds me, with heartbreaking clarity and intensity, of everything that I lost. Because last time, I didn’t get to take a photo of Rosalie and me and our baby and text it out to friends and family. I didn’t get to watch my wife and my newborn figure out breastfeeding. I didn’t get to hold Rosalie and our baby together in my arms, and tell her again how much I loved her, how proud I was of her, how amazing she was for giving me another baby and another chance to be a dad. I didn’t get any of that. And in the face of Edward’s happiness, once again I’m left feeling bereft.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Carlisle asks gently.

“No.” I shake my head wearily. “There’s nothing to say.”

It just feels so lonely. I have so many people who care for me, and yet when it comes down to it, I’m alone in my loss and alone in my grief. No one else loved Rosalie the way I did. No one else lost what I did. Nearly eight months on from her death it feels like they’re all moving on, their lives rearranging neatly to smooth over the jagged edges of her absence, and I’m being left behind. Alone, with a sorrow I can’t shake and an emptiness that seems unfillable.

For a long moment we sit in silence, before Carlisle speaks again. “I know this isn’t easy for you. You’ve been doing so well Emmett, with work and the children and everything else…Esme and I are so proud of you. Go easy on yourself.”

I try and smile at him. “I’m all right. It brings it back, that’s all…but I’ll be fine tomorrow. Maybe try and visit if Bella’s feeling up to it.”

I don’t think I really convince Carlisle, because he stays and watches the rest of the baseball game even though it’s some World Series game from decades ago that I know he would have seen live at the time. I think he’d continue to hang around after that too, but I tell him I’m tired and Esme will be waiting up for him, so eventually he says goodbye and leaves.

Once he’s gone though, I almost wish he’d stayed. I prowl restlessly through the house, checking on the sleeping kids, straightening blankets, smoothing flushed cheeks, switching off the bedtime story podcast that’s still droning on in Mac and Noah’s room. As I stand by Holly’s crib I half hope she’ll wake up, just so I’ll have some company, but all she does is make a grumbling little frowny face and pull her knees under her as she sleeps on her belly, like a turtle retreating into its shell. I leave her and wander back to the kitchen, getting the leftovers from the fridge and taking it to the back porch to eat sitting on the steps. Clementine trots over and whiffles at my neck, and I scratch her shoulder and gnaw glumly at a chicken leg.

This time of night, when the kids are all asleep in bed and I’m on my own, is always a difficult part of my day. It’s lonely, and boring, and it’s always when I miss Rosalie most.

_I miss you so much, Rosa-girl._

I miss companionship. I miss having someone to come home to, someone who asks about how my day is and cares about my answer. I miss having someone who gets my sense of humour, and someone who can always make me laugh at the end of the day. I miss having someone who’s not afraid to tell me to get my head out of my ass and get it together, but who loves me even when I’m a screw up. I miss my best friend.

I miss having another parent around. Angela is brilliant and I’m incredibly grateful to have her in our lives, but she’s not the kids’ mother and I miss that. I miss having someone alongside me who loves them with the same pure, unreserved and unconditional love that I do. I miss having a partner to help me make decisions. I miss being able to be irresponsible sometimes, and not always having to be the person where the buck stops.

I miss sex. I miss touch. I miss sharing my bed with someone who doesn’t wear Pokemon pyjamas. I miss nakedness and kisses and breasts and the softness of the skin on Rosalie’s inner thighs. I miss the feel of her body against mine, and the smell and taste of her… _oh fucking hell, not this again._

I groan, banging my head lightly against the stair rail at my back, wishing I could stop the thoughts of sex from invading my mind. It always feels slightly desperate or degenerate when I get caught up on how much I miss that element of my relationship with Rosalie…missing her keen mind and great sense of humour is one thing, missing the way she looked naked and the things we’d get up to in bed seems like something else, something slightly shameful. And yet, our relationship always WAS hugely physical, and we both liked it that way. It was another way in which we matched and complemented each other, and another thing that I’ve lost. It’s been nearly eight months, and I can only do so much with cold showers and my own hand. More than once recently I have heard Alice inside my head, telling me _it would be_ _okay if you wanted to Em, with someone else…you don’t seem like the kind of person who’s meant for a life of celibacy._

Feeling edgy and unsettled I get to my feet and shut the porch gate on Clementine, taking my dishes back to the kitchen. I’m tired but not sleepy, and the wide bed in my room seems to mock me with its emptiness and tease me with the memories of what used to happen there. I slump onto the edge of it, my head in my hands.

_Rosa-girl, I miss you. I miss what we had when we were together. My whole body aches for the feel of you… I don’t want that with someone else, but you’re not here and you’re never going to be, so what now?_

There are footsteps on the stairs and I look up and find Daisy there. It’s not like her to be restless at night and so I’m a little surprised to see her awake so late, but I’m happy for the distraction and give her as cheerful a smile as I can muster.

“Hey Daisy-bug,” I say. “You’re up late…everything okay?”

Daisy shrugs, and I lean back against the headboard and pat the bed beside me.

“Why don’t you come and talk to me for a bit?”

She plods down the rest of the stairs and climbs onto the bed beside me, tucking her legs under the quilt and leaning against me. She’s holding a stuffed animal, a giant plush narwhal with a twisted silver horn that I bought for her impulsively one night on a slightly drunken trawl through Amazon, and I reach out and touch the velvety fur. She always said her Patronus would be a narwhal.

“What’s on your mind?” I say softly.

“Grandpa said that Bella had the baby.” Daisy strokes her toy.

“Yeah. A boy…Robert, Edward said.” I reach for my phone. “I can show you a picture.”

Daisy looks solemnly down at the photo. “He looks so tiny. He’s cute; can we visit soon?”

“I thought we’d wait until Bella is home again,” I say. “She’ll be in hospital for a couple of days, and all of us descending on her might be a bit much.”

Daisy nods and says hesitantly, “Grandpa said that Bella had an operation to have the baby. Do you know why?”

I’m not sure where this is leading, but I answer anyway. “They call that a c-section. They do them for different reasons, but Bella had to have one when Eliza was born and her doctor thought it would be safer to do one this time too.” I lean closer to Daisy as she mumbles something that I don’t hear. “What was that?”

“If it’s safer - if having that operation is safer - why didn’t Mom do that with Holly?” Her eyes are brimming with tears. “Would she still be here if…?”

“Oh Daisy-bug.” I wrap my arms around her and let her cry, fighting back my own bleak desperation at the question, which has tormented me from the beginning. If it had been different…if we had done something different…

“We can’t know,” I say at last. “If Mom had had a c-sec…but it doesn’t matter, because she didn’t and we can’t know for sure if it would have made any difference.”

“But you just said it was safer.” Daisy wipes her eyes, which immediately overflow again. “If it was _safer_ …”

I shake my head. “It’s safer _sometimes_ ,” I correct her gently. “And for Mom, with what we knew at the time, it wasn’t. Giving the birth the way she did, in the water and on her own terms, was really important to your mom but she would never have done it if she thought for a second that it was going to put herself or the baby at any increased risk.” I can tell Daisy doesn’t really understand this, and I try and smile as I wipe away her tears. “We can talk about that more some other time. Don’t forget though little bug, people give birth the regular way all the time and most of the time it goes just fine. Alice had _you_ when she was just seventeen and there wasn’t a problem at all, and Mommy had twins – twice! – and even though that can sometimes be dangerous _that_ went fine too. There was no reason for us to think that it wouldn’t be fine with Holly, no reason at all…and that’s all we can think about it.”

“It just made me feel so bad when I thought that it could have been different,” Daisy says. “I wanted to be really happy about my new cousin…but it made me sad about Mom all over again.”

“Me too,” I say quietly. “Me too.” And I do the only thing I can and hold my daughter close while she cries. 


	37. Walking With Ghosts

I don’t sleep well, and I’m tired and heavy eyed the next morning. I get the older kids off to school and do some laundry, and I’m sitting out on the front porch steps with a sketchbook, watching Bram and Zeke digging up the gravel on the driveway when Angela arrives.

“An-ya!” Bram and Zeke fling their shovels aside and reach towards her for hugs and kisses, which she happily obliges them with before she comes and perches on the steps next to me.

“Maybe we should get a sandbox?” Angela suggests, watching the little boys go back to digging and piling up gravel. “Those two would love it, and the older kids would probably have some fun with it over summer vacation. Holly will enjoy sand play pretty soon too…is she napping?”

“Yeah, went down about an hour ago.” I scribble impatiently over the half-completed sketch and turn over the page. I have a client who wants some kind of medieval knight design, and I’m coming up blank. Absent-mindedly I doodle a sandcastle and bucket. “A sandbox sounds pretty good actually, I should see what we can find.”

“Oh, I saw Bella’s baby announcement on Facebook this morning!” Angela exclaims. “What a little cutie! I’m so happy for her and Edward. Were you able to visit last night after work?”

“No.” I start drawing a baby, the bewildered newborn look I remember so well taking shape on the page without conscious thought. 

“Are you going in today then?” Angela asks.

“I don’t know.” I focus on my drawing, adding a lick of hair to the baby face, water droplets caught in the curl. Holly then, born in the water…born in blood… With an inarticulate sound of disgust I flip the sketchbook closed and toss it behind me.

“I don’t mind if you want to leave early today and stop by the hospital on your way to work,” Angela says. “I’m sure you’re keen to see them….or not?” she finishes questioningly.

“I should go. The kids made happy birthday cards for little Rob, and of course I’d love to see Edward and meet his baby.” My voice sounds flat.

Angela is quiet for a minute. Sometimes she reminds me of Carlisle, with her perceptive listening and her measured thoughtfulness with words. She’s not afraid of silence, and of the space it gives you to think in a conversation. It makes her easy to talk to and confide in. As I think about what I’m really feeling here, it briefly runs through my mind how much I’m coming to rely on her.

“It sucks,” I say eventually. “I really am genuinely happy for them, I would never wish this on anyone. But hearing that they’ve just safely delivered their baby, remembering what that felt like when it was Rosalie and I when Daisy and the twins were born, and then what it was like when it was Holly…it makes me feel it all over again, you know?” I sigh heavily. “And going to the hospital just feels like poking the beast.”

“I definitely get that. After all, I’m the one who quit my job and changed careers because I didn’t want to be around anyone else’s child after mine died,” Angela says. “Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. And I don’t think Edward or Bella will be upset if you don’t go to the hospital. Not after what happened there with Rosalie.”

“Yeah, I know they’d understand, but I really don’t want to make this about me. They should be happy, without feeling the need to tiptoe around me and my precious feelings,” I shrug.

“It’s up to you,” Angela says. “I’m sure Bella and Edward won’t mind if you wait to visit until they’re home; it’s only going to be a few days. But if you want to go to the hospital, maybe just go easy on yourself? Don’t expect too much…I’m sure just going and being there for them will be enough.”

I hope she’s right. I sort the twins out with their morning snack while Angela feeds Holly and then I head for the hospital, the cards the kids made on the seat beside me. I’m calm enough on the drive, but as I enter the parking garage I feel my heartrate start to pick up.

_I don’t want to be here._

But I ignore the tightness in my belly as I park, and text Edward to tell him I’m there and ask if Bella is up for a visitor. He texts back to say it’s fine, and I tell him I’ll just grab something at the giftshop and see them soon.

_I can do this. It’s okay._

It’s a stuffed zebra on the shelf that does me in. The crooked embroidered face, the pink bow and little black tuft on the tail…the same zebra that I last saw tucked underneath Holly as she slept, the pink bow long gone. The same zebra that the nurses bought for her the day she was born, and left motherless. I pick it up with a shaking hand and suddenly I’m back there, Rosalie’s death a fresh, raw wound and my baby girl brand new, and the world feels like it’s falling out from under my feet all over again.

_Sweet fucking hell…please no._

My hand clenches on the toy, my fingers white with strain. I can feel my heart thudding fast, almost hear the pounding beat in my ears as I fight to gain control. I hear Carlisle’s voice in my head telling me to breathe, and I press my other fist hard against my mouth to centre myself. My knuckles ache from the pressure of my teeth biting on bone.

_Fuck, I hate this place!_

But I’m here for my brother, and this isn’t supposed to be about me. I take the zebra up to the cashier and pay for it, grabbing a box of chocolates and some flowers for Bella first, and then follow the well-remembered path up to the maternity unit. Along the endless corridors, up in the elevator, through the open doors of the ward with the security detectors at the side. I look at the zebra I’m clutching in cold hands, at the flowers and the cards the kids drew covered in babies and birthday cakes and ninjas, and I think of Edward and Bella and how much I’ve missed them, and I try and tell myself that I can do this.

But my ghosts walk with me, and the memories they bring are bright and vivid and real enough for the heartache of remembering to just about bring me to my knees.

_Rosa-girl, I remember coming here for Daisy. Your hand was so cold in mine, and you were so scared that Alice was going to change her mind. And she didn’t, and we got to go home with the best gift we could have ever been given. I remember when it was Mac and Noah, and you were wearing my t-shirt because you had twelve pounds of baby on board and none of your maternity clothes fitted. I remember the way your shoes squelched and left wet footprints behind you when we came in for Bram and Zeke, because your water broke in the parking lot and you were so embarrassed that someone might think you’d peed your pants._

_I remember when it was Holly._

_I remember it all. I remember walking in with you, I remember the way the skeleton painted on your t-shirt moved when the baby moved underneath, and the way it made me laugh. I remember the way you stopped, right over there by the vending machine, and I had to drop all the bags and hold you up during another contraction. I hated seeing you in so much pain, and when it was over you cupped your hands around my face and kissed my lips and told me that it was okay. It’s fine, you said, I’m fine…only a little bit longer, a few more contractions and it will be over and we’ll have our baby girl, our Holly; I can do this. And I believed you Rosalie, because I didn’t think there was anything in the world that you couldn’t do._

I sink down onto a chair, burying my face in my hands as the memories flow.

_I told you that I loved you. While you laboured in the bathtub in that dim, warm room, I held you in my arms and felt your heartbeat throbbing under my hand, and I told you that I loved you. I poured water over your back and kissed your hair and held your hands while you squeezed mine through contractions, and I told you again that I loved you. I was awed by the power and strength of you and so I told you, again and again and again, that I loved you…god, I was so glad of that later. Because later was when Holly came, and later was when the blood came, and later was when the light of the whole world went out because you closed your eyes and left me._

The chair I’m on dips slightly when someone sits in the adjoining one, and after a moment I look to the side. It’s Edward, who smiles at me when he sees me looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this…I was just getting myself together before I came in.”

I stare up at the ceiling, feeling defeated. When will grief release its stranglehold on my emotions and let me feel and react normally again? When will it ever be _enough_?

“It’s all right.” Edward gently squeezes the back of my neck. “I can only imagine what this place feels like for you…you don’t have to do this if it’s too much. We’ll be home in a few days if you want to wait and visit there.”

“You are one of the best things that ever happened in my life, you know that?” I say hoarsely. And my smile might be unsteady, but it’s there. Because there was a time in my life when chance came down on my side and I gained a brother out of nowhere, and he has been a rock. “And if you can put up with me being a mess…seriously, ignore me if I start bawling here…I’d love to come and see Bella and the baby. How are they doing?”

“They’re doing well. Bella’s pretty sore, understandably, but her OB did a great job.” Edward looks a little uncomfortable. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t let you know things were happening until afterward. It was scheduled for next week, but the baby’s movements had slowed a bit, the fluid was low and then Bella had some bleeding – nothing really serious on its own, but all together we thought it was better to take him early. I told Mom and Dad and Alice – Mom had to look after Eliza – but I told them not to tell you. I just thought, given everything…there was nothing you could have done, and you didn’t need to worry about it.”

 _Bella had some bleeding…_ I hate that Edward now sees me as fragile, but as the words echo in my head and I see again the ribbons of blood in the bathwater turning into a flood, I am very glad that I _didn’t_ know. Not until afterwards, when it had all gone to plan and Bella was safe. I swallow hard and rise to my feet. “No, I don’t mind one single bit. Kinda grateful, actually…so come on then, I want to meet the heir apparent.”

Bella is sitting up in bed when we enter the room and somewhat awkwardly nursing the baby, who is arranged on a pillow on her lap. She looks pale and tired, but her face lights up in a smile when she sees me. “Emmett! I’m so glad you came!”

“Aww, how could I stay away?” I say with a grin, bending lower to kiss her cheek. “I had to come and meet this little guy! I’m so happy for you. Are you feeling good?”

“I’m too happy to worry about any pain,” Bella says. “Rob’s here safe and sound, and that’s what matters. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He’s gorgeous. You’ll have to let me have a hold.” I lay the flowers, chocolates, zebra and cards onto the tray table. “Here, I bought you some flowers and chocolates and the kids made cards. As you’ll see, Mac went the non-traditional route and drew a whole bunch of ninjas, please don’t take the blood spatters personally. And the zebra is for baby Robert. Unless you really want it for yourself or something.”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet of you.” Bella smiles as she looks at the kids’ artwork. “Your kids draw so well, those are great. And that zebra is really cute.”

“The nurses here bought one for Holly when she was born,” I say, relieved that my voice sounds steady. “It’s her favourite stuffed animal. Actually, in the past couple of weeks she’s become completely obsessed with it and won’t sleep without it, I was just thinking on my way out I should buy another one or two at the gift shop so we have spares.”

Bella eases the baby from her breast and pulls her nightgown back in to place. “His latch is really bad,” she says. “I don’t know how well nursing is working.”

“We’ve got the lactation consultant coming later,” Edward says comfortingly. “They’ll be able to help.”

“I wish Rosalie was here,” Bella says fretfully. “She was so helpful when I was learning to feed Eliza, she would know what to do now and…” She catches my eye and flushes slightly. “Sorry Emmett.”

“No, it’s cool,” I say, and I really do mean it. “Please don’t feel like you can’t even mention her name! I like that you think of her - it makes me feel like she’s still here, in some way…” I stumble briefly over the words. “She would have been really happy for you, and she would have loved to help you figure it all out. God knows she spent enough time with a baby on her boob over the years.”

Bella grins. “I guess after breastfeeding twins – twice – there’s not a lot she didn’t know about it.” She shifts the baby on his pillow and winces slightly. “Here Em, do you want to take him? Then Edward, can you help me get up?”

I obligingly take the baby in my arms, feeling my mouth curve into a grin as I get a better look at my new nephew. He is completely, hilariously, Edward in miniature.

“Dude, what did you _do_ , clone yourself or something?” I ask him, lifting the baby’s hat to peek at the fuzz of red hair dusting his skull. “There’s no doubt who his dad is…doesn’t look like you got much of a look in here, Bells.”

“No, I really didn’t,” Bella agrees through gritted teeth, as Edward helps her painfully slide her legs over the side of the bed and get to her feet. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Bella shuffles towards the bathroom, Edward hovering anxiously at her side. She drops her voice, but I still hear her exasperated whisper as she closes the door firmly in Edward’s face, “I know you only want to help, but I can change my own pad!”

Catching my eye, he flushes slightly. “Don’t say it, I know I’m overprotective. And I wasn’t this bad when she had Eliza, but this time has felt so different.”

“Because this time came after Rosalie,” I say softly. “This time, you knew on a personal level that you don’t always get a happy ending.”

“Yeah.” Edward sinks down onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He keeps it shorter than he used to, but it still sticks up in about twelve different directions when he gets agitated. “Her death changed a lot of things. Bella and I were in the same OR for the c-sec that they brought Rosalie down to…I watched Rob take his first breath in the room where Rosalie took her last.” He looks at me with tired eyes. “I’ve seen people die in my work, more often than I’d like. My own mother died when I was a child. I _know_ it happens…but it never felt quite so real as when Rosalie died.”

In my arms the baby stirs, blinking around in newborn confusion. He yawns, his face wrinkling, and I see the ripples of Rosalie’s death spreading ever further out. This baby, Rob, will never know her, but her life and death were there for Edward at the moment of his birth.

_It sometimes feels to me like everyone else is moving on, Rosa-girl. That it’s just me who is still drowning in the emptiness of your death. And yeah, no one else is feeling it like I am…but no one is forgetting. Not really._

“But life goes on,” I say to Edward, feeling the truth of it. This baby here in my arms, my own babies getting bigger and older and changing every single day…life goes on, whether you want it to or not. “You can’t live your life being afraid.”

Edward smiles wryly. “That’s true. I try not to…but I have a hard time easing off on my protective instincts when it comes to the people I love.”

“I know. And that can be a good thing…but dude, c’mon now, let Bella pee in peace!” I laugh, and Edward joins in.

“I’m glad you came,” he says simply, and for a moment I reach out and grip his hand.

“I wanted to. I never wanted it to be like it has been. I know I avoided you guys and I’m sorry for it, but it was the only thing I could do.” The baby has squirmed his arms out of his wrappings, and I let his flailing fist catch hold of my finger. “This little dude though…I’m so happy for you.”


	38. The Convention

I’m the last person on the plane, shoving my backpack into the overhead locker and then trying to fold my six foot five frame into the tiny seat between Jonah and Liam as the flight attendants close the door and begin their safety speech.

“Thought you weren’t going to make it,” Jonah says as the flight attendants finish up.

“So did I,” I answer, giving up on fitting my shoulders in between them and sitting with my upper body twisted awkwardly to the side. “Damn, are we sitting in the children’s section or something? I know I’m taller than most, but even you can’t be comfortable in this tiny seat!”

“Haven’t you ever been in a plane before?” Jonah grumbles, but he rises to his feet and steps into the aisle. “Here, I’ll trade with you so at least you won’t be squirming and complaining between us all the way.”

“This is definitely _not_ first class,” I mutter, as I buckle myself into Jonah’s seat on the end of the row. I still don’t fit, but at least all the extra can kind of lean out into the aisle.

Jonah snorts. “I’m sorry the accommodations aren’t up to your exacting standards then, Mr Moneybags.”

“It’s Rosalie’s dad, not me,” I say with a laugh. “I’m developing a new appreciation for him here…alongside my case of deep vein thrombosis or whatever else it is you get from being packed into this crate of sardines.”

“I think it’s cool,” Liam says happily from the window seat. “I’ve never been on a plane before…thanks for bringing me.”

I grin at him. Liam is a pain in the ass as an apprentice; he’s got great natural talent, and is also a hyperactive, forgetful disaster. But he reminds me a bit of myself as a kid and I’ve got a soft spot for him. Jonah and I had decided that taking him to New York for the tattoo convention would be a good experience for him and agreed to split the cost of his attendance.

“What held you up?” Jonah asks.

“I had to get Daisy on the bus for gymnastics camp,” I say. “She’s going for a week and her bag was damn near as big as she is. She packs like her mother – like both of them actually, no one would ever accuse Rosalie _or_ Alice of minimalist packing.”

“She’s surely not old enough for sleepaway camp?” Jonah says in surprise. “Isn’t she still just a little wee thing?”

I laugh. “Well she certainly doesn’t think so; she just turned nine and thinks she’s grown. She didn’t stop nagging me about camp until I said she could go.”

I grin at Jonah, not wanting to admit how hard I’d found it to say yes. Despite the difficulty of planning childcare for all six kids over the summer vacation, the idea of sending Daisy a four hour bus ride away to be looked after by strangers for a week had terrified me. But my job as her dad has always been to help her fly and, after seeing how desperate she was to go and checking it out all, I’d swallowed my hesitation and said yes.

Besides, it was also at least one week of summer vacation that I didn’t have to worry about keeping Daisy safe and occupied. The question of summer childcare had been a complex problem that had taken hours of discussion, more money than I liked to think about, and a giant whiteboard to map it all out on to solve.

Angela had been willing to watch all of the kids, but it hadn’t really seemed fair to basically double her workload for the entire summer and I couldn’t take off work for that long either. Instead I’d looked into all the available programs for elementary aged kids through their school and the Y and the gym and the library and booked the kids into a rotating series of day camps and activities. Somehow Angela, Esme and I had arranged the calendar in such a way that one of us would be available for all drop offs and pick ups required.

“You’ve sorted all the vacation plans then?” Jonah asks.

“Yeah, they’re doing a bunch of stuff. Daisy’s doing this gymnastics camp and then a summer intensive program at her regular gym. All three of them are doing the art camp week at school, and Noah’s doing baseball and computer coding. Mac wanted to play lacrosse…can you imagine what kind of damage that kid’s capable of doing running around with a great big stick in his hands? They make them wear helmets though, I checked, and I’m just hoping that waiver I have to sign is pretty watertight…”

Jonah is laughing. “He’ll be grand.”

“Yeah, _he_ will, but the other kids…” I laugh too, thinking fondly of Mac. School breaking up for the summer had been a huge relief to him and, by extension, the rest of us. We had a summer reading program to work through with him to hopefully have him at a beginning first grade level by the fall, but even with that he was like a different kid not having to go to school. “Anyway, that’s not until next month. Esme and Carlisle are staying with them while I’m away at this convention, where I’m hopefully going to make enough money to pay for all this shit.”

“Well you should do okay. All your paid slots are booked out, and our booth’s in a great spot so you’ll be well visible,” Jonah says. “Just take enquiries and stick to the new pricing guide I’ve set out for you…I mean it, Emmett, you’ve underrated yourself for far too long! You’re bloody brilliant, so for fuck’s sake stop apologising for your limited availability and discounting everything – charge what you’re worth!”

“Okay, okay… “ I make a face. I know Jonah’s right that I work too cheap. My skills are more than good enough to charge more for them, but I’ve always been hesitant to put myself forward as an expert. My regular work hours and solid output over the past few months are starting to pay off though, with increased enquiries and bookings, and the last couple of weeks have been madness after being featured on that girl’s Instagram. I don’t expect the hype to last, but Jonah is insistent I capitalise on it while I can and filled up the last of my convention spots at double the price I was quoting.

Besides, I’m starting to realise that I have to stop coasting and work at making some real money. What might have been okay when I had Rosalie at my back isn’t going to work anymore. The reality of my single parenting life is that it’s terrifyingly expensive, and I can’t live off Rosalie’s life insurance forever. There are many weeks when I pay Angela more than I actually earn, and with three of my kids still under two years old full-time childcare is going to be a line item in my budget for years to come. Jack has been more than generous covering our health insurance costs from his own pocket, and has just written the checks when I’ve asked for money from Rosalie’s trust fund (the summer camp programs weren’t possible otherwise) but I need to get my career to a level that will sustain us all in the long term. Charging more, using every chance I have to network and get my work and name out there, building my reputation back up…it’s vital.

That’s why this convention is so important. I hadn’t been sure about leaving the kids for the three days, but it was something I’ve always enjoyed in previous years and Jonah had been insistent that it would be a good thing for my career. Esme had also decided it would be a good thing for me personally, and had not only volunteered to stay at my house with the kids but had also practically packed my suitcase and shoved me out the door. 

The convention turns out to be everything I’d hoped for and then some. My clients are great to work with and I create some solid pieces that I’m proud to have out there. Jonah and I do a collaboration that wins us a prize and scores loads of attention, and I give out so many business cards I run out by the last day. I get to see some beautiful work, meet and catch up with so many amazing artists and distant friends, and talk shop until I’m almost dizzy with all the ideas and inspiration coming my way.

And while I facetime with the kids at lunch every day, for the rest of the time it’s just _me._ For the first time in a year, since the last time I was at this convention, I’m on my own. No diapers, no bottles, no breaking up arguments over toys or getting babies dressed or soothing them to sleep. I get to eat whatever I want without sticky little hands in my plate. I can hold a conversation without interruptions. I walk around without a baby strapped to my back and, for all I miss the kids…it’s all fucking _bliss._

Alice comes to visit me on the last day. I hear her excited tones from several booths away, and I look up with a grin as she squirms her way through the cluster of people watching me work. There are some advantages to being less than five feet tall I guess – ducking under people’s elbows and getting to the front of crowds is one of Alice’s skills. Jasper, caught behind a few people, waves at me over their heads.

“Hey Monkey-face!…don’t hug me, I’m working!”

“Oh, sorry!” Alice clasps her hands together and kind of bounces on the spot. “Emmett’s my brother,” she tells the client with a wicked grin. “He tattooed me before he was any good.”

“Hey, your tattoo is fine!” I protest, over the general laughter of the people watching. “And YOU designed it anyway, not me!”

“I know, I’m just joking. You know I love it.” For a brief moment Alice touches her lower belly where I had tattooed a daisy flower nine years ago. The same daisy flower tattoo that I did on my leg right afterwards in honour of my baby girl, with a monkey swinging on the stem for my sister who made it possible.

“What are you doing here? Oh, that looks good!” Alice leans over and inspects the work, and then skips past me to hug Jonah, who has just finished and is cleaning up his section. “Jonah! It’s so good to see you again!”

While she, Jasper and Jonah catch up, I get back to work and finish off the tattoo I’m working on. It’s always a little weird tattooing with an audience at conventions, but I like to talk to people and I’ve never minded it. But it’s the end of the third day and I’m exhausted, so I’m glad when I add the last little bit of shading and can declare myself done.

“You did some good work,” Alice says admiringly, flicking through the most recent photos on my phone. “I always think I should get you to do something new on me, but I can never decide what.”

I snort as I pack up my equipment. Alice’s changeable mind is legendary, and over the years she’s presented me with hundreds of ideas for tattoos, none of which she’s followed through on. Apart from the daisy, whose meaning goes far beyond a pretty picture inked into skin.

“Have you heard from Daisy at camp?” Alice demands, as though she’s read my mind. “I sent her a box of candy and some new legwarmers a few days ago, to make sure she’d get them.”

“I haven’t heard from her personally, but the camp sent out an email to say everyone was happy, doing loads of gymnastics, no broken bones yet…it’s all good. I facetime with the other kids at lunch time, they’re all fine with Esme and Angela.”

“You must miss them.” Alice keeps scrolling back through my photos, past convention photos to the usual kid photos that clutter up my camera roll. Jasper leans over her shoulder, looking too.

“Miss them? Yeah, I do. But also…fuck, I’m having a great time,” I laugh. “I haven’t changed a diaper in three days. And look at this t-shirt…go on, look. I have worn it ALL DAY and no one has smeared oatmeal or peanut butter or formula on it, and there’s no drool or snot or other grossness wiped onto my shoulder…”

Alice is gigging. “But it’s covered in ink!”

“Look, I didn’t say it was _clean_ ,” I say. “But it’s all mess that was made by ME. And we’re about to go out to dinner and I won’t have to share my food or organise high chairs or tip at fifty percent to make up for the mess the kids make. Plus, I can actually put my phone and my wallet and my keys into my _pockets._ I don’t have to carry a diaper bag, Alice, do you know what that feels like?”

But even as I say it, I reach out and carefully take down the photo of the six kids I always keep pinned to the wall of my workspace, tucking it carefully into my bag to take back home. Oh, I’m enjoying my temporary freedom, but my babies have my heart and I won’t feel quite whole again until I’m back home with them.

“Lainey! I didn’t know you were here too.” Alice smiles and I close up my bag and turn around to see Lainey, our old apprentice approaching.

“Not working, just checking things out,” Lainey grins at Alice and reaches out to hug me. “I came by earlier but you were busy – how did you go?”

“Yeah, really good.” I return her hug, and she pulls my face down to kiss my cheek.

“You’re looking good Emmett. You doing all right?” Lainey looks at me with sympathetic eyes, and I remember that she flew in to come to Rosalie’s funeral. “How are all the kids?”

“They’re all good and I’m…I’m good too.” I shrug and half smile. It doesn’t really feel like a lie, not right now. “I’m missing the kids, but loving the time away to be honest! Do you want to come and eat with us? We’re just going to the restaurant next door, nothing fancy, but it’d be great to catch up.”

“I was just waiting for an invitation,” Lainey says with a low chuckle.

Her dark eyes on me are intent, and for a moment I feel heat in my cheeks and an odd lurch in my belly. Did she used to look at me that way?

We get our gear back to our room and then I round up Liam from where he’s doing his best to pick up some other apprentice, and we head out to eat. I relish the freedom from children, with no high chairs or children’s menus to organise, and being able to add hot sauce to everything on my plate without having to worry about it making the kids cry when they decide we need to ‘share’.

We move to the bar once we’ve eaten, to keep the night going a bit longer. I love being able to kick back and relax with some good food and beer after what has been a pretty intense and exhausting couple of days.

I love the company too. These are my people – Alice and Jasper, Jonah, Liam and Lainey. They know me, and there is no awkwardness or pain in letting the conversation flow. They don’t talk about Rosalie or my loss, but they don’t shy away from it either if I touch on it and I’m grateful for that. It feels good, being tucked into the booth between Alice and Lainey, because this is a place where Rosalie never was and so her absence seems natural instead of devastating.

Alice leans across me, talking to Lainey about tattoos and admiring all the work Lainey’s had done. She’s filled in her sleeve, a beautiful coloured tangle of plant life, and I examine it too, noticing all the little details.

“That’s the part I did,” I tell Alice, pointing to several blue flowers clustered towards the top of Lainey’s bicep. “Scarlet pimpernels, right? It’s held up well,” I add to Lainey, who nods.

“Your work always does! Let me see how mine looks now.” Lainey presses into my back, pushing me forward over the table so that she can lift my t-shirt a little, revealing the donkey she inked onto me. “Aww, it still looks good – it was so cute. But seriously Emmett, when are you going to fill in the rest of this space? You’ve got my little donkey here, and the bear on your bicep, and the roses and the daisy, but all the rest of this skin is just begging to have something done on it!’

“I’ve got the twin symbol on my upper back too,” I protest. “I got that for my boys.”

“Oh yeah, I see…” Lainey pushes my t-shirt higher, her fingertips tracing across my back. Her hands are warm, and my skin ripples at her touch. “But even so, you have less ink on you than probably anyone else in that convention hall today. You could have easily got someone brilliant to do something spectacular.”

“You can’t have forgotten how much the boy weeps and carries on, surely?” Jonah says in amusement. “Bit of a delicate flower, our Emmett. Can you imagine that spectacle in the convention hall?”

I’m mortified. “I can’t help it! You know that!” It’s an unescapable, embarrassing truth that every time I’ve been tattooed I’ve sat in the chair with tears absolutely pouring down my face the entire time. It’s a joke to Jonah and everyone else who’s worked in our shop, but I would be mocked to kingdom come if I sat in the convention hall in floods of tears!

The conversation moves on, but Lainey’s hand stays on my back. I don’t know what she’s thinking, I don’t know what this means or if it even means anything at all, I don’t know how I feel about this…but her touch burns hot on my back and I don’t move away.


	39. Tree of Life

It’s not as though no one has touched me since Rosalie died. On the contrary, I live my life with an almost constant barrage of touch! A baby who is never more content than when she’s being held in my arms. Toddlers who treat my body like their own personal jungle gym, there to be climbed and jumped on. Older kids who love to wrestle and hug and hold hands and sit in my lap. A mother and father who pat my shoulders and squeeze my hands and hug me often, just because they know I need it.

But Lainey’s hand, warm and soft as she idly strokes small circles on my skin, doesn’t feel anything like that. And even as I finish my beer and listen to the conversation around me I am thoroughly, shiveringly, aware of what it does feel like.

“Jasper and I are going to have to get going.” Alice kneels up on the bench seat beside me and wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m so glad I got to see you! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your place for Daisy’s birthday, but we’ll see you all at the beach at the end of summer.” She reaches behind me with one arm and draws Lainey into the hug too. “Lainey, hit me up any time you’re in town, it was great seeing you again!”

Lainey hugs Alice back and kisses her cheek as she says goodbye. I’m caught in the middle, and for a moment all I can feel is Lainey’s body pressed against my side. Even when she lets go of the hug she stays close, turned towards me with her breasts pressed against my arm and her hand low on my back. My skin burns at her touch.

I don’t know if Alice notices. She probably does – she notices everything - but she doesn’t say anything, just kisses me roundly on both cheeks and beams at me, eyes sparkling. “I love you Em.”

“I love you too, Monkey.” I wave goodbye to her and Jasper, and soon after that Liam gets off his phone and announces that he’s made plans to hook up with someone and disappears off into the night. Jonah finishes his beer and lays down his glass with a yawn.

“I’m knackered,” he tells us. “I’m heading off to bed.”

“I’ve had enough to drink too,” Lainey says. She rises to her feet and gives me a slow smile. “Will you walk me back, Em? I’m staying at a hotel a couple of blocks down – too close to bother with a taxi, but I don’t want to walk on my own.”

“Oh…sure.” I swallow down the last of my beer and slide out of the booth, looking down at Jonah. “I’ll be in soon.”

The smile he gives me is kind. “I’ll be asleep, so it won’t bother me whenever you should get in.”

The night is hot and humid, and despite the late hour the city is alive with lights and noise and people. It’s a long way from my quiet house full of sleeping kids, keeping company with my donkey out on the back porch and looking at the stars. I feel drunker than I thought I was as we walk along, and when Lainey laces her fingers through mine and draws me with her through the front door of her hotel and into the elevator, I don’t resist.

I can’t blame it on the alcohol though - I’m not that drunk. I know what Lainey wants, and I go with her because I want it too.

We’re alone in the elevator. Lainey turns to me, sliding her arms around my waist, and as my arms automatically go around her it feels like my heart is beating out of my chest. She reaches up to my face, her hands curving around the back of my head so she can bring my mouth down to meet hers and then she kisses me. It’s soft, almost questioning…but I dip my head lower, and there’s little doubt about my answer.

We don’t talk. We go to her room and there’s nothing but a bed and we fall on it, kissing and touching, and as the clothes come off I feel like I’m losing my mind.

It feels so good ( _oh god yes kissing and boobs and a hand on my dick that’s not my own oh fuck)_ and it’s been so long…but I have never done this with anyone but Rosalie, and the familiarity-but-strangeness of it all is dizzying. Everything about Lainey feels so different to what I’m used to, and all the familiar signposts of my long relationship with Rosalie are gone.

I don’t know how to touch her. I don’t know what she likes, what noises mean _more_ and what mean _slow down,_ what movements mean _harder_ and what mean _no, not like that._ And she doesn’t know how I like it either. It feels good – it feels _really fucking good_ – but the rhythm of what’s happening between us is fumbling and disjointed, and very different to the long-practised intimacy and bliss I knew with Rosalie.

I try not to think about it though; instead I close my eyes and give myself over to the pleasure of it. The heat and softness and hardness and pure unbridled lust of it all feels like everything.

At least it does until I open my eyes and see Lainey almost naked beneath me, her thighs around my hips, her panties bunched to the side where I’ve have had my hands, and I’m right there, so ready…and then I’m not, and I roll away with a mumbled oath. I lie on my back, a forearm across my eyes, burning with frustration. “Fuck…sorry.”

Lainey lays a hand on my chest. “It’s all right.”

A moment later I lift my arm and roll my head to the side to look at her. “I’m sorry…you know this isn’t about you, right? You’re great and that was…yeah. Really good. But I’m…I don’t know.” I’m hot with embarrassment.

“It’s all right,” Lainey repeats softly. “Really.”

For a few moments we’re quiet. Lainey traces the image of the bear on my arm in a way that feels more friendly than erotic, and I feel myself relaxing.

“Am I…is this the first time you’ve done this since Rosalie?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m sorry it’s turned out to be such a disappointment,” Lainey says dryly, and then the two of us laugh and the tension eases.

“I really am sorry,” I say, adding honestly. “You’re really amazing and I really want to, but…I’ve never done this at all with anyone who wasn’t Rosalie. I wasn’t expecting anything like this and I don’t know how it works. Not sex, I mean I know how that works! But we haven’t even talked about what this is…and I don’t have any condoms anyway and if you got pregnant that would be…I can’t do that…so…”

“Woah, okay then.” Lainey touches her finger to my lips to make me stop, a smile playing on her face. “Look, you don’t have to worry about that. I have condoms in my bag, and I can assure you that my baby factory is well and truly shut down. As for the rest…it isn’t any big deal.” She presses a soft kiss onto my shoulder. “We’ve been friends for a long time Emmett, and nothing we do or don’t do tonight is going to change that. Either way, we’ll both go our separate ways home tomorrow and probably won’t see each other again until the next convention. It’s just one night, and then we’ll go on being friends the same as before.”

It’s hard to imagine, because for me sex has never been ‘just one night’. It was always Rosalie, and it was always _more_. But Lainey is right that we’ve been friends for a long time, and there is an understanding and honesty between us that makes me think that maybe ‘just one night’ is something I could try here.

I roll onto my side towards her, tentatively reaching out and brushing a blue streaked lock of hair off her face. “You’re sure? You really want to?”

“Really,” Lainey confirms. “We’re friends, and neither of us want anything else. You’re not ready, and I’ve got enough other stuff going on in my life. This, tonight…it isn’t about anything more than just having some fun.” She giggles. “I had a real thing for you, back when I was working under Jonah.”

“What, really?” I’m genuinely astonished. “I never had any idea.”

“Oh yeah,” Lainey grins at me unabashedly. “I would never have acted on it – I was a girl with a crush, not a homewrecker! And let’s be real, your eyes were always so full of Rosalie you were blind to everything else. But you can’t really blame me for taking a shot at it tonight.”

I laugh, and this time wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer feels easier. “I never saw anyone but her,” I say. “But now…”

_She’s not here, and you are. And she’s never coming back, and I’m lonely and someone touching me makes me feel alive again…_

_It’s just one night._

I don’t get back to my hotel room until the early hours of the morning.

________________________________________________

I don’t say much the next morning, quietly packing my things and grabbing a quick breakfast on the way to the airport, before we board a flight for home. I don’t even complain when Liam, who came crashing into our hotel room hours after I did, drunk as a lord and keen to tell Jonah and I how much he loved us, stamps on my feet and elbows me in the nose as he trips over me in his haste to get to the airplane bathroom as soon as the seatbelt sign clicks off.

“I’m gonna die,” he croaks, looking at me with bloodshot eyes when he returns. “Can I sit on the aisle? Please? I’m gonna need that bathroom again.”

I slide along without a word, sitting cramped in the centre seat between him and Jonah, who has his ipad and sketchbook out and is apparently doing some math. I gaze past him out the window, and find my thoughts drifting back to the previous night.

_It was a weird thing, Rosa-girl, to do that with someone that isn’t you. It’s not even something I ever really thought about…I’ve always been hopelessly monogamous, even in fantasy! And why wouldn’t I be, when I had YOU? But you’re gone, and it feels like a lifetime that I’ve been alone now._

_Last night, with Lainey…I thought I’d feel guilty today. But I woke up and remembered it all and I’m just kind of tired, and a little bit sad, but mostly okay. It feels like it had to happen someday, and at least this way it was a friend, it was kind, and it left your place in my heart undisturbed._

_The loss of you is still like a gaping hole with jagged edges right in the centre of everything, but even with that I know I need to learn to live a life without you…I think you’d understand about last night._

Jonah catches my eye. “You’re all right?” he asks, softly enough that it won’t disturb Liam, who is asleep and mouth breathing against my shoulder.

“Yeah.” I give him a tired smile. “I’m all right.”

“Grand. And you can probably breathe a little bit easier about all your summer expenses, because we did very well out of this convention.” Jonah shows me the final total he’s circled at the bottom of the page.

“That’s awesome…I won’t have to deprive Mac of cracking heads with a lacrosse stick after all.”

Jonah laughs. “I haven’t taken expenses out of that, so don’t get too carried away, but it’s a great convention result. Lots of interest in pieces and future bookings too, so worth doing I think. Even if I’m fucking exhausted now…I am not like you young things, work all day and party all night…”

My laughter is hard enough to jostle Liam’s head, but his heavy, slumbering breathing doesn’t even falter. “Yeah, don’t think I’m up for that too much. I’ll leave it to Liam.”

“The boy’s astonishing,” Jonah murmurs. “I do wonder sometimes what I’d have done if they’d all this internet hook up caper around when I was his age. But aside from all that, you and I need to have a wee chat about the future.”

I look up in alarm. “What? Why? You’re not going to sack me are you? Because…”

“No, no!” Jonah chuckles. “Calm yourself. I’m not sacking you – on the contrary. I want to talk to you about a partnership.”

“A partnership? With you?” I say uncertainly.

“Aye. I’ve been thinking on it a while. It may have escaped your notice, but I’m getting on in years and while I’m not planning to retire anytime soon - I’ll work until my eyes can’t see and my arthritis is so bad I can’t hold a gun – the day is going to come when things have to change. You and I work well together…we’ve been doing it long enough! You’re the only apprentice I’ve ever had that I wanted to keep around so long, and the shop wouldn’t be the same without you. As a partner you’d have more responsibility, but you’d get more money too.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never thought about it…I’m beyond flattered. But you don’t have to; I’m not going to leave you and work for anyone else. You believe that, right? And I don’t know anything about running a business…and the kids and my hours…”

“We’d work all that out,” Jonah says. “As I said, I’m not looking to retire any time in the near future! But I’d like to set things in place well before that. I had it in mind that by the time I’m seriously contemplating slowing down, your kids would be older and you’d be able to devote a little more time to the business side of things then. So you’ve got plenty of time to learn all that, which I’m sure you’ll do fine with. If I learned how to do it, you can too.” 

I feel dazed. “You really want to do this? I mean, I don’t know how much money I can bring to the table or anything.”

“It’s not about money.” Jonah shrugs and gives me a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t have any family Emmett, so what else am I going to do with the shop in the long run but hand it on to you? We may as well start now so you can learn what you need to know, as see it foisted on you after I’m dead and you’ve got no idea what to do with it! Look, you don’t have to do this now, or ever if you’re not interested. I’ll understand if you feel that you’ve got enough on your plate as it is. But I wanted to make the offer, because you’ve a remarkable talent, you’ve been a grand friend to me, and it’d be an honour to be your partner.”

I couldn’t hold back the smile that breaks across my face if I wanted to. “It’s an amazing offer Jonah, incredibly generous, and I’d love it. Yes, absolutely.”

“Great, great! We’ll have to put some thought into how we manage it, but at least we’re on the same page now.” Jonah hesitates for a moment. “There’s something else I found that I thought I ought to share with you.” He flips back through the sketchbook until he finds a page with several rough sketches, and one more complete that’s been circled. “There…that one.”

It’s a stylised tree of life, done in lines and knots that look Celtic, adorned with six flowers blooming from the edges. Strong and simple. Two of the flowers are pink, the remaining four shaded blue. It’s good, like everything Jonah draws up, but I’m not sure why he’s showing it to me and I look at him questioningly.

“I drew it up last year,” he tells me. “For your Rosalie. She asked me to.”

Unconsciously I reach out and trace the lines of it, the colours of the flowers suddenly making sense. Four blue flowers for all our boys, and two pink for our girls. “I don’t understand though…when?”

“Remember that day she came in? Late last summer, she’d had an appointment with the baby doctor and she came in afterwards?”

I do remember. “She was upset because the OB had told her that it was time for her to stop breastfeeding the twins. He told her that she had an irritable uterus and she was risking a premature labour for Holly…she told me that her uterus would be the least irritable thing about her if she had to endure the shrieking of the twins going cold turkey from her boobs.” I half smile and half grimace – nursing had set off contractions and stopping had been the right thing, but it had been a rough transition.

Jonah smiles. “You were in the middle of a job, so I took her into my area and made her a cup of tea while she put her feet up. While she was drinking it she told me that the baby was one hundred percent going to be the last one, and she thought it might be nice for her to get a tattoo for them all. She wanted you to do it, but she wanted me to design something so that she could surprise you with it after she’d had the baby. We talked about what she might like, and I drew that up for her.” He hesitates. “I found it when I was going through some old sketches, preparing for the convention, and it occurred to me that Rosalie wouldn’t have had time after the baby came to show you. I thought you might like to see it, or even…”

“Do it on me?” I don’t even need to let him finish, I know what he’s going to say. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”

“I thought it’d go well on your other arm here,” Jonah twitches his shoulder that’s jammed against my bicep. “It’ll need to be a wee bit bigger, but it’ll look grand.”

“It’s beautiful.” My eyes are stinging with tears, but instead of crying I start laughing. “I just can’t believe…she was really going to let me tattoo her? After all those years of telling me her body was not my sketchbook! She was going to sit down in my chair and let me at it…fuck Jonah, there’s nothing I can do but laugh about it.”

I remember the lines of body so clearly, her perfect clear skin and all the years I spent tracing my fingers over it while I imagined the beautiful art I could put into it. And I would have finally got the chance! “Oh well,” I say with a sigh, before I start laughing again. “She once told me I could tattoo her over her dead body – guess she really meant it.” 

_________________________________

Two days later I stock up on tissues and sit in Jonah’s chair while he gives me my new ink – a tree of life for my wife, and flowers for the babies she gave me. I sob the whole time. But there’s a kind of peace in the pain, and when it’s all over and done with I look at my newly decorated arm and smile.

_I love you Rosa-girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Just wanted to say thank you to everyone reading and commenting again. I think I’ve got back to everyone who reviews, but just in case I’m missing anyone, and because I know there are people who just read quietly, I wanted to put it here too. Thank you to everyone for reading and always being so supportive of my writing – you are all really keeping me going with this one!
> 
> I also thought I’d say that Emmett’s new tattoo here is mine. It was my first one and I had it done after my last baby, a Celtic looking tree of life with six flowers. Although I don’t have that many kids – I’ve got two pink flowers for me and my daughter, and four blue for my husband and three boys…I loved being able to share it with Emmett in this story!


	40. Dolphins and Birthday Cake

“My turn!” Mac’s sun-browned arms wrap around my neck and his sturdy legs grip my sides. “I want another dolphin ride!”

“Okay, one more…hang on!” I take a breath and kick away from the edge of the pool, suddenly diving below the water to touch the bottom. Mac hangs on, coming up sputtering and laughing as I rocket back up to the surface.

“Again!”

I groan. “No way buddy, this dolphin is tired out.”

Mac releases his grip on me, falling backwards with a splash, and dogpaddles towards the side. I follow behind just to make sure he gets there safely, automatically scanning the pool. Bram and Zeke are wearing puddle-jumpers and paddling energetically, closely supervised by Jasper and Esme. Daisy and Noah are floating in an inner tube with Alice, and Edward is in the deep end, patiently catching Eliza as she repeatedly jumps off the top step.

I spread my arms along the side of the pool and relax for a moment, the afternoon sun hot on my shoulders. The thought of last year’s vacation drifts across my mind and I half smile as I remember Rosalie in the pool, her pregnant belly round and obvious in her bikini. I don’t dwell on it though, pushing the thought away before it can turn my mood dark. We’re a week into our family summer vacation, staying in the same house overlooking the beach that Carlisle and Esme have rented for the past couple of years, and it’s been great. I love all the extra time with my kids, and despite the exhaustion that comes from vacationing with little ones who need constant active supervision around water, I’m feeling a deep sense of contentment.

“Hey Emmett, the mermaid baby is ready for a swim.”

I open my eyes and see Angela, kneeling at the side of the pool with Holly in her arms. The baby is wearing a swim diaper and rash guard, and her exposed skin is shiny and greasy with sunscreen. As soon as I hold out my arms her face scrunches up into a joyful smile and she hurls herself bodily towards me, lurching out of Angela’s arms with full confidence that I’m going to catch her. I love the way she trusts me so completely.

“Hey Jellybean!” I swoop her high into the air and then splash her down into the water, grinning as she shrieks and hoots with laughter. “Let’s blow some bubbles!” I dip her right under the water, and she comes up blinking and giggling.

“I can’t believe how much she loves the pool!” Angela says, sitting on the edge of the pool with her legs in the water. “Maybe we should see about taking her to baby swimming lessons in the fall? Bram and Zeke too – if we did it in the morning we could both go, and between the two of us we could do the lessons with them and get everyone dried off and changed afterwards. What do you think?”

“Sure, if you want to.” I hold Holly above my head and duck under the water, coming up and spitting a stream of water at her. She cackles with laughter and whacks me happily in the face. “You’d like more swimming, wouldn’t you little fish?”

I play with Holly in the pool until her skin turns wrinkly and cold, then climb out and peel her wet things off and bundle her into a towel. She snuggles her head into my chest as I sit in one of the lounge chairs, and I stroke her hair and watch as it springs back into curls as it dries. I blow raspberries into the folds of her neck and on her fat belly, feeling my heart swell with love all over again as she squirms and giggles. This roly-poly baby with the hilarious, honking laugh and deep dimple in her cheek might have cost me almost everything, but she also stole my heart when I didn’t even know I still had it to give. She and I have come a long way from her newborn days, when all I saw when I looked at her was her mother and all I could feel was my own devastation.

“Here, you might want to put that on before she pees all over you.” Angela tosses me a diaper and puts the fruit platter she’s carrying balanced in her other hand on the table beside me, before going over to the pool to help the kids out.

I diaper Holly and then sit her up in between my thighs, grabbing a bunch of grapes and biting each one in half before I share them with her. She examines each one carefully before putting it in her mouth, grape juice dribbling down her chin as she makes her scrunchy face of joy.

The other kids descend on the snack table, dripping water all over. Bella follows them, stretching out on the lounge chair beside mine, baby Rob tucked into the crook of her elbow. She looks over at me and smiles.

“Your new tattoo looks good,” she says, indicating the tree of life on my bicep.

“It’s for all us kids,” Daisy says, leaning over my shoulder and draping an arm around my neck. “See, pink flowers are for me and Holly, and blue flowers for Mac and Noah and Bram and Zeke. Jonah did it.”

“It’s really beautiful,” Bella says. “I might have to make an appointment soon, to get Rob’s name and birthdate tattooed on me to match Eliza’s. What do you think, Emmett?”

“I’ll give you a good deal,” I say, laughing. “Seriously Bells, whenever you want, just say the word.”

“Where will it go?” Daisy asks Bella.

“Here.” Bella lifts her t-shirt and shows Daisy her rib tattoo.

“Oh, cool. And you’ve got lots more space, so you can have more babies,” Daisy says brightly, making Bella sputter with laughter. “Dad can’t have any more kids because he can’t really fit in more flowers on his tree.”

“Yeah,” I say dryly. “Sure. _That’s_ the reason I’m not having any more kids.”

“I’m going to get a tattoo,” Daisy goes on, undaunted. “As soon as I’m old enough. It’s going to be a narwhal, done like a Patronus. Dad drew it for me already, but he says no tattoos until I’m a grown up and I’ve thought about it more.”

“Probably a good idea,” Angela says, sitting on the sun lounge opposite me and handing Holly a piece of string cheese. “I know your dad will do a great job on anything you ask him for, but you don’t want to end up with something you regret that you can’t get rid of.”

“Do you regret yours?” Daisy asks. “Is that why you always cover it up?”

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo!” I say in surprise.

“I don’t,” Angela says, her face going bright red.

Daisy giggles. “Yes, you do! On your back! I saw it when you were putting your swimsuit on.”

Bella laughs. “Secret’s out, Angela!”

Angela buries her face in her hands for a moment. “Oh my gosh, I hoped this would never come up…yes, I have a tattoo! A very brief rebellious period in college, and a terrible, _terrible_ tattoo that I’m too embarrassed for you to ever look at!”

I’m laughing. “What is it? Come on, it can’t be _that_ bad!”

“No, it’s worse! And your art is so good, I can’t let you see what I let someone do to me!” Angela shakes her head.

“Oh go on, I promise I won’t laugh. What is it?”

“It’s kind of like a dolphin,” Daisy says helpfully. “Only a bit…well, not as good as you can do, Dad. Maybe you should show him?” she adds to Angela. “He could fix it up.”

Angela groans. “Okay, okay. If you insist…but don’t laugh!” She tugs her rash guard over her head and turns so that her bare back in her swimsuit is facing me.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad…oh geez, no…damn!” Even though I promised not to laugh, I can’t stop the strangled snort of amusement. “That is one of the shittiest dolphin tattoos I’ve ever seen. How could you let someone do that to you?! Sweet hell…”

“I know, I know! It’s awful! But that’s what you get when you’re young and dumb and don’t do any research and get impulsive tattoos!” Angela starts pulling her rash guard back over her flaming face. “I’m going to get it lasered off one day.”

“Hang on, let me have a better look.” I reach over and hold Angela’s shirt away from her back. “Laser tattoo removal is getting better all the time, but it’s expensive as hell and that would be a hard one to get rid of. There’s some scarring – god, I don’t usually criticise other artists but this thing is so messed up!”

“It was not done by an artist, that I can say for sure,” Angela says ruefully.

“You should think about a cover-up,” I say thoughtfully. “I could do something...Bells, chuck me my phone would you?” I catch it in one hand and snap a quick photo. “Would you want to? I can’t fix what’s there, but I can tattoo something over it so no one would ever even know this shit was there first. I’ll do you a freebie – it would save you bucketloads of money on laser removal!”

Angela slips her shirt back down. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do! I can’t look at you knowing that disaster is on your back!” I laugh. “Seriously, I’d love to fix it for you. Would you want me to? What sort of thing would you like instead?”

Angela smiles. “Well yes, thank you, I’d love it. I like tattoos – I just don’t like _that_ one! I’ll pay you too. As for what I want…I don’t know, surprise me.”

“I’ll draw something up and book it in as soon as we get home,” I promise, ideas already swirling in my head. “It’ll be great. And I won’t take your money either, consider it a birthday gift.”

Daisy hands Holly a chunk of watermelon. “It’s mom’s birthday tomorrow,” she says. “I mean, it would be.”

“It’s still her birthday, even if she’s not here,” Angela says gently, glancing at me as if to gauge my reaction.

I wipe watermelon juice off Holly’s chest with the corner of a towel, keeping my face neutral. The thought of Rosalie’s birthday has been a thorn in my side for weeks. Rosalie always loved her birthday, she loved being given gifts and having a fuss made over her, and doing nothing seems wrong. At the same time, what am I supposed to do? Birthday are a celebration of _life_ …how does death fit into that?

“I didn’t know you knew that tomorrow was Mom’s birthday- how did you remember that?” I ask Daisy.

“I didn’t remember the exact date, but I knew that we had Mom’s birthday when we were here on vacation last year, so I asked Grandma and she told me.” Daisy fiddles with one of the faded friendship bracelets knotted around her wrist. “You bought a fancy cake from the bakery, and I made cupcakes…remember?”

“I remember.” The fancy cake from the bakery, helping Daisy and Mac and Noah make Rosalie breakfast in bed, cards and gifts and lopsided little bunches of hand-picked seaside daisies on the tray, me taking Rosalie back to bed in the afternoon while the little twins napped. Making love in the afternoon heat, slow and lazy, her pregnant belly and breasts heavy with milk making everything feel so round and ripe and hot… _happy birthday, beautiful girl…_

“So can we?” Daisy’s anxious tones break into my thoughts, and I wrench myself back to the present, very glad that no one can read my mind.

“Can we what?”

“Have a birthday cake for Mom. I could bake one. I know Mom’s not here, but maybe it would still be nice…” Daisy’s voice trails away, her fingers twisting her bracelet so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

“I think it’s a great idea,” I say, meaning it. “Mom would love it if you baked a cake for her birthday.”

“I’ll do it now.” Daisy jumps to her feet. “Then it will be all ready for tomorrow. Please? But you’ll have to help me…I don’t know how to use the oven at this vacation house and I can’t reach the high shelves in the pantry.”

______________________________________________

Daisy brings her cake out at morning tea the following day. It’s slightly lopsided, with chocolate icing and pink candy roses decorating the edges. _Happy Birthday Mom_ is written across the top in pink letters – the _happy_ is so big it takes up nearly three quarters of the cake, _birthday_ is scrunched onto the remaining space with _Mom_ a nearly illegible scribble that’s halfway down the side. I wish Rosalie was here to see it.

“So how old would Mommy be anyway?” Mac asks. “Twenty-three?”

“No!” Noah disagrees. “She was much older that that…maybe forty-seven?”

I stat laughing, and Daisy looks at them both in disgust. “Don’t you know anything? Mom would be turning thirty-six, the same as Dad. Right?”

I nod. “That’s right.” But my smile fades as I realise again that Rosalie will never be thirty-six, the same as me. If I’m lucky I’ll grow old, forty or sixty, or God willing even a hundred, wrinkled and grey, probably bald and fat…but Rosalie will remain forever thirty-five in my memory, beautiful and golden and perfect.

Esme squeezes my arm as she comes forward with some matches. “Let’s light the candles; everybody ready?”

My throat is too tight for singing, but Alice’s happy enthusiasm makes up for it and carries the kids along with her. Bram and Zeke have to be prevented from climbing on to the table in an effort to blow out the candles, but as they huff and spit in the direction of the cake I’m glad someone had the foresight to keep them back.

_“…happy birthday dear Mommy/Rosalie/Mom…happy birthday to you!”_

The singing fades away, and for a moment the candle burns bright and hot. Rosalie’s not here to blow it out…

Daisy steps forward and blows, but she’s crying and her breath only causes the candle flame to waver. I lean over the top of her, my hand covering hers, and together we extinguish the flame.

_Happy birthday, Rosa-girl. I wish you were here to celebrate it._

I hug Daisy tight as she sniffles into my shirt, feeling the knobs of her spine as I rub her back. “It’s all right little bug,” I say. “Do you want to cut the cake for us?”

Wiping her eyes she nods, and picks up the knife, cutting slices that Esme helps her pass round to everyone.

“To Rosalie,” Carlisle says softly, raising his cake for a moment before he takes a bite. “Delicious, Daisy! You know, I was just thinking that the first birthday I celebrated of your mother was really the day she was born.”

“Really?” Daisy looks up and smiles. “How come you were there?”

“I was just starting out as a paediatrician. I was called to an emergency c-sec and when I got there I was just handed a baby girl – a very red faced and angry and screaming baby girl! I checked her over and she was perfect, and then when I went to hand her over to her daddy I saw my friend, your Grandpa Jack, and realised it was his baby. I’ll never forget it – he was sobbing, he was so happy.”

Daisy giggles. “What about you Daddy? What was your first birthday with Mom?”

I don’t even have to think, a smile creeping across my face as the memories flow. “Her seventeenth. I saved up my allowance and took her out to dinner, because I wanted to be like a real adult or something. I even made her let me drive us…and Mommy was all cranky because that meant she had to ride in the Volvo we had at the time, rather than drive her precious BMW!”

Edward snorts with laughter. “Oh, the soccer-mom Volvo…Rosalie would have been mortified.” He grins at Daisy. “And I don’t even remember the first birthday of Rosalie’s that I celebrated, because I was just a little kid then! I knew your mommy for a long time.”

“It was her fourth birthday,” Esme interjects. “I remember, because it was the first birthday of Rosalie’s that I was there for too. We gave her a Lego set that you’d chosen.”

“Setting her on the path to engineering greatness!” I say cheerfully. “All those hours building Lego really set her up for building prosthetic limbs later in life.” I grin at the kids. “You guys should remember that your mom was really smart – you don’t have to be a bonehead like your dad, you can take after her instead!”

The kids giggle, and I feel warm with remembered love for my Rosalie. Because she was smart, and she was beautiful, and in her thirty-five years of life she left a legacy that changed the world and it’s all sitting at the table right here in front of me.

So I hand out more cake, and we toast to a life that ended too early but that left memories and love and heart worth celebrating.


	41. The Unicorn

On the evening of Rosalie’s birthday I see the older children to bed and then wander out to the pool deck with Holly. Both of Rosalie’s parents texted me earlier to say that they were thinking of me and the kids, which is so unusually thoughtful of them that I’m somewhat discombobulated by it. I take a seat on one of the lounge chairs and text them back with one hand, feeding Holly her bedtime bottle with the other. Once the text is sent I find myself scrolling through the photos on my phone while in my arms Holly drinks her milk and gazes at the screen. Tears prickle at the back of my eyes as the two of us watch the images of Rosalie flip past, but I smile at the memories of our years together.

“That’s your mommy, Jellybean. Wasn’t she beautiful? You look just like her –pretty lucky for you! That was her birthday last year…god, I can’t believe it’s only been a year. It feels like a millennium. To think you were just that big lump in her belly then, and now look at you!” Daisy has tied Holly’s hair into a ridiculous little pigtail on the top of her head, and I curl it absently around my finger. “I would never in a million years have thought, when I watched your momma blow out her birthday candles and make her wish back then that this is where we’d be a year later. It’s been the hardest fucking almost-year of my life Jellybean, that’s for damn sure, but there were some good years before that. I was so lucky…we were all so lucky that we had each other.” 

_You were so beautiful, Rosa-girl. I’m so lucky to have loved you and been loved by you for as long as we had._

Holly slurps down the last of her milk, and I put aside the empty bottle and give her the stuffed zebra I had in my pocket. She buries her face in its scruffy fur and relaxes against my chest as I stretch out on the lounge. 

“Mind if we join you?” Edward comes out onto the pool deck, rocking baby Rob in his arms while he firmly and rhythmically pats his back. 

“Not at all. How’s the heir?”

“Awake, as always,” Edward says lightly. “He really doesn’t have the sleeping pattern of a newborn.”

“He’s like you,” I say, because Edward is one of those freaks of nature that sleeps only six hours a night and never feels any ill effects. 

“Yes, probably…which is going to be fine when he’s old enough to just stay in bed and read while everyone else sleeps, but it’s making life rather difficult right _now_!”

I laugh. “Well I guess you’ve just got to hope he takes after you even more and learns to read when he’s three. That’ll help.” I drop a kiss on Holly’s forehead as she hugs her zebra and smiles sleepily at me. “It’s funny to see ourselves in them – I was just telling Holly here how much she looks like her momma.”

“She really does.” Edward glances across at Holly, his face soft.

“And there’s baby Rob, looking like you shrunk yourself and put on a onesie,” I say, making Edward laugh. I grin too, but then my smile fades and I say slowly, “I’m really sorry I wasn’t really there for you when Bella was pregnant. I’m sorry for all of it honestly…not being there, what I said when I found out he was on the way…I was an asshole, plain and simple, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Edward begins, but I shake my head.

“I do though. You’ve never said anything to me about that, but I don’t want to just let it slide- I want you to know that I know I was a shit and I’m sorry.”

“You had your reasons.” Edward looks a little bit uncomfortable. “And I have to own my part in that too. I didn’t exactly chase you up…you weren’t the only one who found it difficult.”

“I guess I was kind of hard to be around,” I say quietly.

Edward sighs. “I didn’t deal well with Rosalie’s death, and Bella’s pregnancy didn’t make it any easier. Every day was absolutely fraught with terror that I’d lose her, or the baby. Holding that at bay took everything I had…there wasn’t really anything left over for you.”

I feel it again, the way the seismic quake of Rosalie’s death has rippled outward, the aftershocks being felt so deeply by so many people other than me.

“It’s better now though? Now that Rob’s here and it all went well?”

“Yes.” He smiles down at his baby. “That helps, obviously – I’m not walking around with my heart in my throat and expecting disaster at any moment at least! You know I’m not very good at accepting there are things I can’t control.”

“Your control freak tendencies _may_ have been noticed,” I murmur, raising an eyebrow.

“Death turns that on its head though, doesn’t it?” Edward says. “Ultimately, none of us are in control; not me, not you…not even the iron-willed and headstrong Rosalie, as much as she might have liked to think she was!” He shakes his head.

I give a sudden snort of laughter. “She did like to get her own way. I sometimes think that if she was aware, afterwards…I mean, I don’t know what happens, I really don’t but…if there’s a heaven and all, I’d bet the very first thing Rosalie did when she got there was demand to know where the complaints department was. Because her being dead and me and the kids being left behind would be absolutely _unacceptable_ to her, and she’d like to have a few stern words with whoever is in charge, thank you very much…”

“Oh yes, I can see that!” Edward throws back his head and laughs. “I can just imagine her face…I wouldn’t want to be the one on the receiving end of her wrath, I can say that.” He grins at me, before his smile fades and he says, “You’re getting through her birthday okay?”

“Yeah.” I half shrug. “Not much choice! But…actually it’s been easier than I expected. I’m really glad that Daisy wanted to celebrate. I never want the kids to forget that they all had a mom who loved them more than anything, and that she was smart and beautiful and fierce and funny, and she would never have wanted to leave them.” I sigh heavily. “Remembering hurts, a lot sometimes…it can be hard to do it without getting lost in grieving what we don’t have anymore. But I need them to remember her, I need them to know her…and I’m so glad when doing that is fun, like it was today. She loved her birthday, and she would have been so happy we celebrated it for her.”

“Rosalie would definitely have approved.” Alice appears soundlessly beside us and reaches out for Rob. “Let me borrow your baby Edward, Holly looks too comfortable to disturb.”

Alice squashes onto the lounge chair with me, baby Rob looking somewhat startled as she settles him into her arms. Edward stretches out beside us, chuckling as he notices the way Holly is patting my arm in a steady beat with her chubby baby hand, her eyelids heavy as she drifts off to sleep.

“She’s patting you to sleep.”

I smile tenderly at the baby. “She’s so funny, she does it all the time. She slows down as she starts falling asleep, then sometimes she’ll jerk back awake and start whacking me before going to sleep for real.”

“She’s the most hilarious baby,” Alice says. “I didn’t know until Holly that babies could be such clowns, but she’s got personality for days. The way she laughs! There’s no way she’s going to let herself get lost in the shuffle, even if she is the youngest of six. It really feels like she’s always been here.”

“Nine months and twenty seven days,” I say softly. “That’s how long it’s been.”

Alice rests her head against my shoulder. “You’re still counting the days?” Her voice sounds sad.

“Only sometimes. And to be fair, Holly was born on the first so calculating it doesn’t really require all that much math!” I wait until Alice laughs before I say, “Time doesn’t feel like it has all that much meaning when it comes to that day though. Nine months and twenty-seven days…but sometimes it feels like yesterday, and sometimes it feels like it’s been years. The kids change so quickly too, and that makes it feel longer…I mean, Holly’s almost the same age Bram and Zeke were when it happened. The little twins are running around and picking up words like crazy, Mac and Noah are going into first grade and Daisy into fourth in another week. They’ve all changed so much that it sometimes feels like I’m living a life that Rosalie was never even a part of.”

“It’s better though, right?” Alice asks. “I don’t mean you’re over things and dancing merrily off into the future, but it does feel easier? Mostly?”

“A lot of the time…yeah,” I say slowly, curving my hand tenderly over Holly’s back, feeling it rise and fall with her regular breathing. “It’s all still _there_ , all the grief and anger and bitterness, but it doesn’t rule my life on a day to day basis. I won’t ever get over it, but I’m learning to live with it.”

___________________________________________

The bell jangles as the door of the shop opens, and I walk out to the front and greet Angela with a grin.

“Hey, you all set? Ready to get rid of that crap on your back for good?”

“Definitely ready for that, although I’m so nervous!” Angela looks embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s not about your skill or anything. I know it’s going to look great! But I’ve got to sit through it all first…”

I laugh gently. “It’s fine – most people are nervous. Come on back.”

Angela follows me into my area, looking around with interest. “I’ve never been in here before,” she comments. “It’s cool. Did you do the things on the walls?”

“Some of those are mine,” I answer. “They’re flash designs that people can choose if they’re not after something custom. Jonah and I designed a lot ourselves, and the rest are bought ones that we’re able to use too.”

“Are you doing one of those on me?” Angela perches on the edge of the big chair.

“No, I’ve worked something custom up for you. Cover ups can be tricky, the new design has got to work to cover up what’s already there, so they really have to be individual.” I grab my sketchbook and sit on my stool, scooting closer. “Now you gave me free rein on design here and I’ve done something I think is perfect for you, but if I’m off base and you don’t like it you don’t have to go ahead with it today, okay? We can talk about something else…it’s really important to me that whatever you end up with, you really love it.”

Feeling unusually shy, I turn the sketchbook over and offer it to Angela, watching her face to see her reaction. “It’s a unicorn,” I say unnecessarily. “Because that’s basically what you _are_ …I feel like I went looking for a nanny and I found the impossible. You’re amazing with the kids, you have always gone above and beyond with everything you’ve done for us, you’re everything that we needed and I still can’t believe we were lucky enough to find you.”

Angela’s eyes are shining with tears as she smiles at me. “Oh Emmett, it’s been my pleasure, honestly. I love your kids, and this job…you all feel like family. And the unicorn! This is beautiful and I would be so proud to have your art on my back.”

I grin back at her. “I really thought you’d like it! I mucked around with a few other things, but the unicorn really felt like you.” I show her how the dolphin will be hidden in the curves of the billowing mane. “So it’ll be a fair bit bigger…you’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Angela nods enthusiastically. “I love it!”

“Great, let’s get started then! Take your top off and lie down, I’ll just sort out what I need.” I turn my back to give her some privacy while I gather everything together. “You’re probably looking at around five hours of work here, plus any time on break.”

“Well, your mom is happy to have the kids all afternoon; she said she’ll meet us at the school open house with them this evening.”

“Oh yeah, we’ll be done by then.” I spin around on my stool and scoot myself and the tray with all my equipment over to where Angela is lying on her belly, head turned to watch me. I explain what I’m doing as I get everything ready and then smooth out the stencil onto her back, positioning it carefully over the old tattoo. “All right, I’m all set. You good to go?”

“Yes.” Angela looks anxious. “Please don’t laugh at me if I start crying!”

“I can promise you I won’t,” I say over the buzzing noise of the gun as I start work. “God knows I disgrace myself with the tears every time I’ve ever had any work done! Just let me know if you need a break, we’ve got plenty of time so there’s no rush.”

Angela has her head turned away from me, and I realise that she’s watching us in the mirror. I grin and wave a gloved hand at her. “You’re doing fine.”

“It’s cool to see you at work,” she says a moment later. “Do you always chat with people while you’re doing this?”

“If they want to,” I say. “Some people would rather not, but most people like the distraction. It’s part of what makes the job so interesting – people tell me a lot of stuff while I’ve got them in the chair.”

“It’s a pretty vulnerable position I guess, lying here half naked while you hurt me,” Angela says with a shaky giggle.

I snort. “That’s one way to look at it! And I’m sorry if I’m hurting you – usually people tell me I have a light hand!”

“Oh, it’s not bad!” Angela says hastily. “It doesn’t exactly tickle, but it’s actually not hurting anything like I remember it hurting when I got the old one done.”

“Yeah, well whoever did that butchered your skin, so hopefully I’m not doing that.” I wipe up a few welling drops of blood. “It’s going to cover up pretty well though – you won’t have to be embarrassed by this piece.”

I love what I do. I never get tired of watching the art come to life under my own hand, and seeing the unicorn bloom on Angela’s back is no exception. I work fast, the two of us talking easily about the kids, about the swimming lessons we’ve booked to do with the three little ones, about her mother who’s starting to deteriorate even more and how hard that is for Angela. The five hours it takes to complete the piece feels like a lot less.

“All done.” I lay down my equipment and stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness in my back.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Angela sits up, clutching the sheet she’s been lying on to her chest. She’s looking a little pale. “That last half hour…ouch.”

“Hopefully worth it though,” I say, nodding towards the wall mirror. “Go on and take a look!”

“Oh Emmett!” Angela cranes her neck, gazing over her shoulder to see the reflection of her back. “I can’t believe it…that’s amazing!”

“Here, this might make it easier to see.” I grab a second mirror to help her see, my own grin breaking over my face at her evident happiness. I love seeing client’s reactions to my work, and this tattoo matters more to me than most. Angela the unicorn…I had not even dared hoped for someone like her when I went looking for a nanny. She’s everything my kids needed, and on top of that she’s become one of my best friends and strongest allies.

“It’s beautiful! You’d never know it was covering up something so terrible.” Angela laughs happily, looking at herself from every angle. “I can’t even imagine anything better than this. I don’t even want to put my shirt back on so I can show it off.”

“I don’t know about going topless to an elementary school open house,” I say with a laugh. “But I’m really glad you’re happy with it.”

“I love it!” Angela turns and impulsively hugs me, and without thinking I hug back. It’s only when my hands curve around the bare flesh of her lower back that we both suddenly become aware of the fact that she’s dropped the sheet and she’s half naked in my arms.

“Oh!” Angela’s face flames and she steps back, clumsily covering herself with her hands. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine, it happens all the time, I’m not fussed…” I grab the sheet and give it to her before turning hastily away. But my face feels hot, and the mirrored reflections mean I see everything anyway, and somehow this doesn’t feel like work usually does.

I get it together enough to go over the aftercare instructions with her, both of us pretending to ignore what happened. Angela lets me take a photo and then she gets dressed and waits while I clean up. The routine is comforting in its monotonous familiarity, and by the time I’m done I’m able to look her in the eye and smile quite naturally.

After all, this is just Angela. My friend and nanny…no need to make a big deal out of anything.


	42. Open House Night

“Ready to go to the elementary school open house?” I finish the last of my cleaning, tossing the wipes and stripping off my gloves.

“Sure. We’re still meeting Esme and Carlisle there with the kids?”

“Yeah, I thought that would be the easiest thing.” I call goodbye to Jonah, working in the next room, and lead the way outside to the minivan.

“You know I used to drive a Jeep,” I say wistfully to Angela. “I never thought I cared about cars – not like Rosalie and her convertibles! – but swapping out the Jeep for a minivan was a wrench.”

Angela giggles as she climbs in to the van. “It’s so much more practical with kids though, and six of them doesn’t really leave you any other option.” She leans forward slightly, keeping her freshly inked back away from the seat. “Thank for inviting me along tonight.”

“Thanks for coming,” I say. “The kids will be excited to show you their classrooms, and I thought it might be good for you to meet their teachers and everything. Especially since you do so much work with Mac, and you’re an emergency contact on their registration info now.”

“It’ll be good to have a face to go with the teachers’ names,” Angela says. “And it’ll be fun just to see the school – remember I was at Camden in elementary school too, with Edward and Rosalie.”

I drive the short distance to the school and park, and the two of us head inside. It’s nice to be there for a reason that _isn’t_ Mac getting in trouble, and I say as much to Leo Hyland when he greets us.

Leo laughs. “I can imagine; he’s made a good start though, by all reports. I saw him earlier with Esme and Carlisle. And this is Angela?” He shakes her hand. “It’s great to meet you. Enjoy the open house.”

Angela and I wander through the hallways, searching for the family. Several other parents stop me and say hi, and I’m uncomfortable to see the way their eyes light on Angela with open speculation. I introduce her, hoping to stop any gossip, but I realise with a slightly sinking feeling that this is probably the next phase of my life as the local tragically bereaved school charity case.

I’m distracted a second later as Zeke comes barrelling into view, laughing hysterically and running as fast as his chunky little legs can go. He’s chased a second later by Carlisle, who is slightly hampered by having Holly strapped to his back and looking like he’s just about at the end of his rope.

“Zeke, stop! Come back to Grandpa!”

Zeke sees me and tries to duck to the side to get past, but I grab him and swing him up high in the air. “Hey buddy.”

“Emmett!” Carlisle looks relieved. “Angela! You’re here.”

“The little guy too much for you?” I say teasingly, settling Zeke firmly on my hip despite his squirming attempts to get down. “You must be losing your touch.”

“Maybe I am!” Carlisle shakes his head. “We’ve only been here half an hour, and he’s managed to get hold of scissors, Sharpies, a first aid kid, and a baseball bat. He’s also climbed a bookcase, dropped Holly’s pacifier down a heating vent, and released a container full of crickets that were supposed to feed a lizard. He doesn’t stop, does he?”

“Only when he’s asleep,” I say. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Noah’s classroom.” Carlisle leads the way along the corridor. “Just down here.”

“Dad!” Daisy hugs me as I step through the door, and then hugs Angela. “Angie! You’re here…did the unicorn work? Do you love it? Dad showed me what he was going to do and asked if I thought you’d like it and I said yes, absolutely! He made me promise to keep it a secret…is it good? Can I see?”

“I’ll show you later,” Angela promises. “I can’t take my shirt off here in the classroom! But you were right, I do love it. Your dad has a photo.”

I hand my phone to Daisy before she can ask, pass Zeke to Angela, and grin down at Noah as he reaches for my hand. “Hey pal, want to show me your room?”

“This is where I sit…Riley sits next to me…and this is my journal about vacation…see here’s my picture of the pool at the vacation house…and this is my math worksheet that I got one hundred percent on, that’s the best you can get…and this is my Spanish book, soon I’ll be able to speak a whole other language…” Noah shows me everything, eventually leading me over to his teacher. “And this is my teacher…Mrs Stein, this is my dad.”

I shake her hand. “I’m Emmett Cullen.”

“Great to meet you Emmett, I’m Elaine Stein.” The teacher smiles down at Noah. “We’ve got a very clever little boy on our hands here!”

Noah squirms with happy embarrassment, and I affectionately run a hand across his head. His hair is starting to grow back and it sticks up in all directions- he looks like a hedgehog. “He sure is.”

“We’re going to have to look at some extension work for him,” she says. “The school doesn’t have a specific gifted and talented program until the children are a little older, but I want to make sure Noah is challenged enough to keep him engaged and working up to his potential. He’s a delight to have in the classroom, and I think we’re going to have a great year, aren’t we Noah?”

He nods enthusiastically and then, at my suggestion, he heads over to his desk to show Carlisle and Esme some more of journal entries.

“I just wanted a quick word about his hair,” I say in a low voice. “I talked about this with Ben Cohen last year, he might have said something…”

“Yes, Ben did mention it,” Elaine smiles at me. “Actually though, Noah told me about it himself. I always do a little one on one interview with my students at the beginning of the year, talking about the things they like, things they think they’re good at or need to work on, special things they’re interested in…they can be very insightful, even so young as they are. Noah told me that he has a habit of pulling on his hair and asked if I could remind him not to like Mr Cohen used to.”

I grin. “That’s great, we really tried to reassure him that it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about so it’s awesome that he just told you.”

“He’s a very thoughtful and mature little boy, and I’m looking forward to teaching him this year,” she tells me. “He was a little anxious when school first returned, but he’s settled in more now that’s he’s becoming familiar with our routine. I’ve hardly noticed him pulling on his hair at all.”

“Oh, that’s really good. It was a big problem last year, but he spent a bit of time working on stuff with Liz Chapman then and he’s had a really good summer. Hopefully it keeps on like this, but let me know if he seems to be struggling.”

“We’ll definitely keep in touch.”

Other parents are waiting, so I finish up my conversation with Elaine and then start herding the rest of the family together. “Where to next?”

“My classroom!” Mac shouts.

“We’ve already been in your room,” Daisy says. “We went there first! Please Dad, I didn’t complain that I had to be last but it’s my turn now.”

“But Dad didn’t see my stuff,” Mac argues, grabbing my hand. “And Dad, I’ve gotta show you something…” He starts dragging me towards the door.

I see the frustration flash across Daisy’s face, and I reach out for her with my free hand. “We’ll go to your room next,” I say to her, seeing the relief in her eyes. She’s so good about waiting and taking turns, but I know that it’s sometimes really hard for her to be the oldest kid of such a circus. “Mac, you’ll have to show me after that.”

Mac scowls, but he comes along to Daisy’s fourth grade classroom willingly enough. Angela manages to distract the little twins with an abacus, Mac and Noah start poking through tubs of robotics equipment, and Carlisle, Esme and I attentively look on as Daisy proudly displays how neat her desk is, and then shows off her handwriting and math and reading books. She’s explaining what they’re learning in social studies when her teacher walks over and grins at us.

“You bought the whole family, Daisy! Hi everyone, I’m Adam Harris.”

“This is my dad, and my grandma and grandpa…and that’s Angela over there…and all my brothers, don’t worry about them…and my baby sister Holly.” Daisy finishes her introductions and kisses one of Holly’s feet hanging out of the bottom of the carrier. “Isn’t she cute?”

Her teacher laughs, and shakes hands all round. “It’s great to meet you,” he says, “Daisy’s a real asset to the classroom; she’s a good student and a natural leader. She’s been nominated for class captain, and I’m looking forward to hearing her speech on Friday.”

“I’ve already written it,” Daisy tells him. “I practised it with Angie – she told me her dad taught her all about making speeches. He was a minister, so he had to do them every week.”

“Sounds good,” Adam says. He looks up at me. “Feel free to give me a call or an email with any concerns, but so far Daisy’s off to a great start in the fourth grade.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “She’s a champ. We’re all really proud.”

Daisy hugs me as her teacher heads off to the next family. “I mean it,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “I love you little bug.”

Since everyone else has already seen Mac’s classroom, Carlisle and Esme shepherd the other kids outside to the playground rather than have to chase Bram and Zeke away from all the temptations of a first grade classroom all over again.

“Angie, will you come and see my room too?” Mac asks, reaching for her hand. “I want to show you something.”

“Of course,” Angela stoops down and gives him a quick hug, and I can see how pleased she is to be included. “I’d love to see your room and meet your teacher!”

Mac ushers us importantly through the throng of people still milling around in the hallway and into his classroom. His teacher, an older woman I met several times last year when she was advising on his IEP, looks up from her desk with a smile.

“Mac, you’ve come back!”

“I brought my dad and Angie to see my test!” Mac looks at me with a broad grin. “You have to see…we did these tests and Mrs Corday just showed me what I got and it’s amazing!”

“You’re this excited to show me a test?” Considering that last year he assaulted his teacher with a book at the idea of testing, can you blame me for being surprised?

Mrs Corday laughs gently and shuffles through some papers until she finds the one she wants. She hands it to Mac. “Here you go.”

“It was a reading test,” Mac tells me, smoothing the paper out and showing me the graph on it. “And see this yellow section? That’s what you’re supposed to score if you’re in first grade. And this dot right here is what I got…and look, it’s right in the middle of the yellow bit!” Mac’s nearly jumping up and down with glee. “Isn’t that good? It’s just what I was supposed to get!”

I look across at his teacher, who nods encouragingly. “Mac did a terrific job, and scored at a standard early first grade level.”

“It’s the same as everyone else!” Mac bursts out. “Because of all that stupid homework you made me do over summer, doing reading every day even though it was vacation, now I can read as good as I’m supposed to be able to!”

For a moment the lump in my throat makes words impossible. All the testing and planning and meetings of the previous year, all his hard work over summer…and we’re getting somewhere. I swallow hard.

“Mac, that’s great. I knew you could do it!” We high five, and then I can’t resist picking him up and giving him a hug. When I let him down he drags Angela off to look at the projects tacked up on the back wall, and I hand the result sheet back to Gianna Corday.

“That’s so great,” I say. “We did that summer reading program with him and I knew he was improving, but I didn’t realise he’d caught up. He was so behind last year.”

Gianna nods. “I can tell he worked hard over the break, and he’s hit the ground running coming back to school. I’ve got every confidence that he’s going to have a successful year.”

“It’s amazing. I have dyslexia too and I spent my whole school life falling further and further behind…it’s so great to see Mac making real progress.”

I clear my throat a little awkwardly. I spent years screwing up in school, falling further behind the other kids all the time, feeling stupid and worthless and hopeless about my future. The thought that Mac would feel the same way about himself that I thought about myself back then, that he would struggle and fail the way I did, has haunted me since the day his dyslexia was diagnosed. Hearing today that his hard work is showing good results gives me hope like nothing else has that what Angela said was true, and Mac’s education will be easier.

“Early identification and intervention can make an enormous difference to outcomes,” Gianna says. “Mac’s extra work over the summer has helped him catch up with the other students, and that’s a really encouraging result. He should be really proud of himself. He’s still got a long road ahead of him, but I’m very happy with how he’s going and you should be proud of what he’s achieving.”

I look over at Mac, talking animatedly to Angela. They’re standing by a project that I can tell from here is Mac’s, with messier handwriting and better illustrations than most of the others, and he’s grinning as she bends towards him to listen. I smile too. “You don’t have to tell me that, I already am.”

Mac shows Angela and I everything he thinks is worth looking at in his desk – mostly drawings and the scented erasers he picked out of the prize box when he finished the week with no behaviour marks. Once he’s done we head outside to the junior playground, finding Daisy showing off her gymnastics skills on the bars, Noah at the top of a climbing frame and Bram halfway up, with Esme poised underneath him ready to catch.

“Carlisle took Holly to the car to change her,” she tells me, looking around a little nervously. “You might want to look for Zeke, he was here a minute ago…”

I look around for Zeke, finding him ensconced at the top of the slide and trying to kick the kid climbing up after him in the face.

“No kicking,” I tell him firmly, reaching up to grab his foot. “Play nice…come down the slide and let someone else have a turn.”

“I was just on my way over,” Krista, a mother I’ve been friends with since her daughter Kayley joined Daisy’s gymnastics class when they were both four, appears by my side. “I’m kind of slow these days.” She pats her pregnant belly, adding to her son, “Go on Jackson, your turn now.”

Zeke shoots off the end of the slide and bolts back around to the ladder. “How much longer?” I ask, nodding towards her bump.

“Three more weeks. I can’t wait.” Krista looks across the playground, to where Angela is talking with Esme and watching the other three boys playing around on the climbing frame. “So what’s this I hear about you being seen with a new woman?”

“Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow.

Krista giggles. “Hey, I don’t make the gossip, I just investigate it!”

“They saw me with Angela,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Who you well know is my nanny. Did you really hear something different?”

“Maybe some people are hoping?” Krista grins. “It’s not like this place and the gym isn’t crawling with single moms who’ve been waiting for you to get back on the market.”

“Oh my god…” I shake my head. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re not upset, you?” Krista looks concerned. “I’m just teasing you. I mean, yeah, I heard…but it wasn’t mean-spirited gossip. The moms all love you, you know that, and everyone would love to see you happy again.”

I nod slowly. The idea of dating again doesn’t really appeal, but there’s a confused sense within me that moving on is something that will happen one day. Something that maybe I want to happen, even though I don’t know right now what exactly that might look like.

“It’s all right,” I say to Krista. “I’m not upset, but you can all hold off on the dating thing though, yeah? I’m doing okay as things are, and…” Before I can saying anything else Zeke goes to launch himself into space from the top of the slide and I have to run and catch him.

_Rosa-girl, I don’t know what moving on like that might be like. Imagining that one day I might feel something for someone that comes even anything near to what I felt for you seems impossible. But…when I first lost you, just living seemed impossible. Surviving the devastation of your death and the loneliness of your absence seemed impossible. Raising the kids alone seemed impossible. And yet here we are. The kids are thriving, and I am alive and surviving and learning all the time how to live without you. There is life without you, and maybe someday there will be even more than this._


	43. Trick or Treat

And then, somehow, it’s October. The weather cools and the leaves start to turn, the world painting itself in brilliant colours of gold and red and orange, but for me the looming anniversary of Rosalie’s death lays a shadow over it all. All I can think is that the final day of the month will bring Halloween, and then I’ll go to sleep and wake up in November to a world that has been without my Rosalie for an entire year.

_A year. I’m counting down to three hundred and sixty five days without you, Rosa-girl…and there are still days when I can’t believe that you’re really gone._

The first of November will bring with it more than the anniversary of Rosalie’s death though, because that day also marks Holly’s first birthday. Somehow, I have to find a way to celebrate her birth and mourn Rosalie’s loss on the same day. My daughter’s birthday, my daughter’s very life _,_ is inextricably bound up with the horror of her mother’s death…and even as the anniversary comes closer I don’t know how to hold the enormity of both things in my heart.

_____________________________________

“Hey, I’m home!” I toss my keys onto the hallway shelf and head towards the kitchen, saying hi with hugs and kisses to all the children I pass along the way. “Something smells good.”

“Ribs in the slow cooker,” Angela tells me, busy at the counter with a pile of broccoli and pumpkin. “I’m just doing some vegetables to go with them.”

“Oh great. How can I help?” I swipe a broccoli floret and eat it raw.

“One day someone is going to cut your fingers off if you keep doing that,” Angela says. “Dinner’s pretty much under control.”

“At least if you cut my fingers off I’d get some time off work,” I say. “I spent all afternoon with my head in someone’s ass while I tattooed his butt cheeks…not my favourite.” I stoop down as Holly crawls towards me, swinging her up high and then snuggling her close as she laughs and gives me soggy kisses into my neck. “Hey Jellybean baby!”

“Just a heads up that Daisy is going to talk to you about Halloween,” Angela tells me. “She wants to be Hermione this year, and when I told her I’ve made myself a Professor McGonagall costume to wear while I hand out candy she got all excited about doing a group costume and me coming trick or treating with you. I told her I’d talk to you about it.”

I look at her in surprise. “Why would I mind if you came with us? We’re going out with Edward and Eliza; Bella’s going to stay home with Rob and hand out candy. Of course you don’t have to come with us but if you want to it’ll be fine – we’ll have fun.”

“It wasn’t so much the trick or treating that you might mind, but the idea of us all going with coordinating costumes,” Angela says. “A group costume might give the impression that…well, it’s usually a family thing, isn’t it?” Her cheeks flush a dark red. “I heard what that woman said to you back at the open house. And today Mac said that some of the kids at school were asking him if I was his new mom. I don’t want to do anything to make things awkward for you or the kids.”

“You’re not doing anything to make things awkward,” I say roughly. “I’ll talk to Mac. Was he bothered? The shit people talk…” I break off as Daisy skips into the room.

“Dad, we have to talk about Halloween,” she announces. “I’ve worked it all out! I’m going to be Hermione, and Noah said he wants to be Harry Potter. Angela said she’s made her costume and she’s going to be Professor McGonagall to hand out candy at her house, but really I think she should come with us and we could all be matching! Because you can be Dumbledore, and Mac _should_ be Ron even though he says he won’t be…”

“I want to be something really scary,” Mac says, trailing Daisy into the kitchen. “Not a wizard.”

“…and I’ve found the perfect owl costume for Holly, so she can be Hedwig!” Daisy continues, ignoring his interruption. “It’s so cute! And I found a house elf costume for Bram or Zeke, and the other one could be another student or maybe Professor Snape. And we could all have brooms and go together! See, here’s the owl costume…” Daisy tries to shove the iPad under my nose.

“Hang on, does anyone else even want to do this?” I ask.

“I don’t,” Mac says. “I told you I want to be something scary…I want you to do a skeleton face paint on me. A really creepy one.”

“I want to be Harry Potter.” Noah appears in the kitchen and smiles at me. “Now that I’m reading the books and Daisy and I watched the movie.”

“And the little twins and Holly can’t even talk to pick something else,” Daisy says. “So you can just buy the great costumes I found and make them wear them…”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, taking the iPad off her. “I’ll have to have a look and we can talk about it later. Mac, go and get your reading book and I’ll listen to you read before dinner.”

The older kids leave the kitchen, and for a moment I lower my face into Holly’s soft hair and close my eyes. “Fucking Halloween.”

I don’t realise I’ve said it aloud until I look up and see Angela’s sympathetic smile.

“It’s just…it was the last night,” I say hoarsely. “I remember…trick or treating…she wore a t-shirt I painted with a skeleton, and a little baby skeleton over her belly…I could see it move sometimes, when Holly moved inside…and later…”

I can’t say more through the tightness of my throat, but the rising memories aren’t ones I can share anyway. The tenderness and love of that last night with Rosalie is forever imprinted on my mind, a memory I have clung to through the unimaginable agony of losing her.

I hadn’t known that it was the last night. I never dreamed when I slipped the skeleton t-shirt off her and told her all over again, with my hands and body and words, that I loved her that it was going to be the final time I would ever have that chance. I would not have believed, when I drifted off to sleep with my arms wrapped around her, that from the next night onwards I would be sleeping alone.

_And the funny thing is, if I HAD known, I probably wouldn’t have even done anything differently, Rosa-girl. I look back, and it’s the perfect ordinariness of it that means so much…you kissed our babies and said goodnight, and then when we were alone you kissed me. We made love in the quiet darkness and we ate the kids’ Halloween candy lying naked in bed and laughing about how ridiculous we were. And I fell asleep curled around you, with the knowledge that I was holding my whole world close and it was beautiful._

“I know I can’t just skip Halloween this year,” I say, forcing my tone back to normal as Holly shifts uneasily in my arms. “But I kind of wish…oh damn it, whatever.” I tap the iPad back into life. “What does Daisy want us all to wear? This owl costume is pretty funny, Holly will look….sweet hell, does Daisy think I’m made of money or something??? Did she tell you how much this costume is going to _cost_?!”

________________________________________

I buy the owl costume anyway. I buy the Hogwarts robes and wands and cauldrons and glasses that Daisy and Noah want. I ask Alice to put her costume design and sewing skills to work and whip me up some kind of wizard robes, because I learned a long time ago that one-size-fits-all Halloween costumes do not, actually, fit me. I buy Mac a skeleton suit and do a couple of practice runs with the face paint to give him the ‘scary’ skull face he wants. I tell Daisy that I’ve spent enough, and I go down to the basement and dig out the monkey suits Mac and Noah wore when they were toddlers for Bram and Zeke. The little twins decide they’re dog costumes and spend the next week and a half crawling around the house in them and barking at us.

I buy birthday gifts for Holly. A doll, a toy fire truck, some books and a llama hat. A silver charm bracelet, the same one that we gave Daisy for her first birthday and have been adding to ever since. The same one Rosalie once bought for Alice, many years ago. I buy three charms, a birthday cake to symbolise the occasion, and a bear and an angel for the daddy and mama that watch over her. I wrap them up and hide them, and wonder how I’ll ever have the strength to give them to her.

We run a Halloween event at the shop, so I go in early and spend the day tattooing people with bats and jack-o-lanterns and a selection of quirky little ghosts that Jonah and I designed. It’s busy and fun, and I’m almost sorry when it’s time for me to leave Jonah and Liam to the evening crowd while I head home for trick or treating.

Angela and the kids are just finishing a quick, early dinner of sandwiches when I get home. Daisy, Mac and Noah wore their costumes to school, so they’re already dressed and wildly excited. I grab a pb&j for myself and eat it with one hand while I do a quick refresh of Mac’s skull face paint and Noah’s lightning scar, and zip the little twins into the matching monkey suits. I then throw the wizard robes Alice made for me over my jeans and sweater, and arrange the pointed hat and fake beard.

“Dad, you look amazing!” Daisy hops ecstatically up and down. “Just like Dumbledore!”

“If Dumbledore had been hitting the gym,” Angela teases me. “I don’t recall him having linebacker shoulders like you!”

I snort. “I was just thinking that wizard robes hide the dad-bod nicely.” I flourish my wand at Bram, who is laughing hysterically and trying to pull off my beard. “You look great by the way. If you get sick of childcare you could get a job with Alice making costumes any day of the week.”

“Oh, thanks.” Angela smooths down her tartan robes and straightens her pointed hat. “My mom taught me to sew, but the only thing I ever make now are Halloween costumes, or the occasional gift for someone. So, we’re ready to go?”

We pile everyone in the minivan and drive into town, pulling up in the parking lot of the nursing home where Angela’s mom lives.

“Thank you for doing this,” Angela says.

“No problem.” I take Holly out of her carseat and start dressing her in the owl costume, which was too big and bulky to fit under the straps. She giggles delightedly and starts trying to play peekaboo with my beard.

“This is where my mom lives,” Angela says, gathering the children together on the sidewalk. “She and her friends are really looking forward to seeing all your costumes! But remember, I told you that they’re all pretty old and my mom gets confused a lot…she might not really talk much, but that’s okay. Don’t be scared.” 

“Angela!” As Angela and I herd the children through the front door we’re met by a smiling worker dressed like a scarecrow. “Great to see you tonight…and you’ve brought us some trick or treaters!”

“This is the family I nanny for,” Angela says, grabbing Zeke as he starts heading off down the hall.

“Harry Potter and Hermione…and a scary skeleton!” The scarecrow rears back in pretend terror at Mac, and he gives her a ghoulish grin from behind his face paint. “And some monkeys and oh, sweetie you’re a beautiful little bird!”

“She’s Hedwig, my owl,” Noah tells her. “I thought she should be in a cage so people would know, but Dad and Angie said no.”

The lady laughs. “Your mom’s in the lounge, Angela. And I hope you’ve all got lots of room in your candy buckets, because we just love having trick or treaters here!”

The kids are all about the candy and eagerly follow her. I heft Holly up on my hip and grip a monkey tail to stop Bram from running away and go with them, into a loungeroom that is crowded with old folks. Everyone seems to ooh and aah at the children as we follow Angela over to a woman sitting in an armchair and staring a little vacantly out the window, a paper bag held loosely in her lap.

“Mom?” Angela kneels by her side. “Mom?”

Mrs Weber turns to Angela and pats her hand, smiling at the children. “Oh, are you all off to school?”

“It’s Halloween,” Angela says gently. “These are the kids I look after – Daisy, Noah, Mac, Bram, Zeke, and Holly over there with Emmett. We came to show you their costumes.”

“Oh.” Mrs Weber reaches out and touches one of the feathers on Holly’s costume. “What a sweet baby bird. And you’re…you’re the magical children,” she says, making Daisy and Noah giggle.

“I puppy!” Zeke bounces forward on his hands and knees. “I puppy! Bam puppy! Woof woof!”

“Woof woof!” Bram agrees, crawling after his brother and kneeling by Mrs Weber’s chair, clutching his little pumpkin bucket and longingly eyeing the bag of candy on her lap. “I puppy…candy? Candy mine?”

Mrs Weber laughs, and her whole face seems to transform as she beams down at the two little boys. “Joshua and Isaac! You have to go out trick or treating to get candy…but I suppose I can start you off.” She fumbles with the bag on her lap and brings out candy bars, that she drops into the little twins’ empty buckets before moving on to the other kids “There you go! And some for all your friends too, of course. Now, your sister is going to take you out in the neighbourhood, but you must listen to her and be good boys.”

“I good,” Zeke says earnestly. “Good puppy.”

“Of course you are Isaac, you’re a very good boy. You too, Joshua.” Mrs Weber leans forward and kisses both of them on their foreheads. Bram steps back in alarm, but Zeke just gives her a sunny grin and holds out his candy. “Eat now?”

“Why is she calling them those names?” Noah whispers to me, watching Mrs Weber trying to open Zeke’s candy with shaking hands.

I see Angela brush a surreptitious tear away before she smiles at him. “Isaac and Joshua are my brothers. They’re twins, identical like Bram and Zeke…I guess my mom is just a little mixed up.”

This seems to be the case, as Mrs Weber turns to Angela and says clearly, “Look after your brothers while you’re trick or treating. Stay in the neighbourhood and come home in an hour or so – they’ll have enough candy by then. Make sure they don’t run out into the street…I know it’s Halloween but drivers aren’t always looking carefully. And we have to keep our little puppies safe!” She pats Zeke on his head, and he happily barks at her and shakes his butt to make his tail flop around, making everyone laugh.

Some of the other old folks have bags of candy on their laps and are calling out to the kids, and after Angela and I tell them it’s okay they all go trick or treating around the room, coming away with pumpkin buckets and cauldrons already weighted down with their loot. 

Mrs Weber seems to fold back into herself as Bram and Zeke head off to try their luck elsewhere. Angela tucks the afghan closer around her legs and kisses her forehead, holding her hand for a long moment. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow Mom.”

“Thank you dear,” her mother murmurs. “But my daughter will be here tomorrow.”

Angela gently lays her mother’s hand on her lap and turns away. I see her face as she does, and still holding Holly I reach out to her with my free arm. “Hey…”

“It’s fine.” Angela sniffs and wipes a hand briefly across her eyes as we head towards the door. “She often doesn’t recognise me now, or she thinks I’m her sister Maria or something. But the way she looked at Bram and Zeke…I know she thought they were Josh and Isaac, but I haven’t seen her look so bright for…a long time now…and…” Her voice breaks.

I wrap an arm around her, and for a moment she hides her face in my shoulder. Under my hand I feel her back quivering with sobs and impulsively I hold her closer and kiss the top of her head. “It’s all right sweetheart.” I almost bite my tongue when I realise the endearment has slipped out.

I don’t know if Angela hears though. A moment later she straightens up and takes a deep breath. “I’m okay. Really.” She gives me a smile that wobbles only slightly. “That was like seeing my mom the way she used to be again. Seeing her smile like that again…thank you for coming here with me.”

I think about how much I’ve wished for the chance to see Rosalie’s smile just one more time, and squeeze Angela’s hand. “I’m glad we did.”

“Look how much we got!” Mac jumps in between us, his eyes big as he shows us his bucket. “I didn’t even know we would get candy here and look at this…it’s like ten houses just in this one room!”

“And you’ve still got the neighbourhood to go!” I say with a laugh, and Mac puts up his hand for a high five.

Angela and I collect the other kids from around the room and head out into the twilight. We meet up with Edward and Eliza and trick or treat through the neighbourhood in a big noisy, group. And somehow, despite how much I’ve been dreading it, it’s easier than I could have imagined.

My kids are just so _happy_. They run up and down the walks knocking on doors and shouting thank you when the candy hits their buckets. They happily shriek in pretend fear at spooky decorations and exclaim at all the costumes we see. Daisy high fives every other Hermione she meets. Bram and Zeke do their best to keep up with their big brothers and sister, barking at the open doors instead of saying trick or treat and gleefully shaking their behinds and wagging their tails to make people laugh. When they get tired of walking they climb into the wagon I’m pulling Holly in and start working their way through the candy. Holly sits placidly in the wagon, gazing around in fascination and beaming at everyone who looks in her direction and stops to tell her what a beautiful little bird she is. She collects almost as much candy just by sitting in the wagon and looking adorable as the kids do running around knocking on doors.

Maybe because Halloween is the night that ghosts walk, but the whole time Rosalie feels so close. I know she would love this. As the sun drops lower and the shadows lengthen and deepen into night, it feels almost like she’s with me, almost like I can hear the echoes of her laughter and feel the warmth of her smile and love for us.

_I miss you Rosa-girl. I always will. But you’ll never be completely gone as long as I carry you in my heart, and I’m so glad for that._


	44. Angels

We stay out trick or treating until the little plastic cauldrons and pumpkin buckets are almost full and Holly is starting to nod off in the wagon. Once home I tell the kids to leave all the candy on the kitchen table and then make sure everyone’s faces are washed and teeth brushed. Wiping Holly’s four teeth I discover that underneath the owl costume she has somehow ended up with a Jolly Rancher glued into her hair and what looks like half a Snickers bar melted down her back. I send the big kids upstairs to bed and leave Angela settling Bram and Zeke downstairs, and take her into the shower.

Holly loves any chance to play in the water. She flicks her hands in and out of the jets as I foam up the shampoo and gently work the candy out of her hair, and then she lies her head against my chest and relaxes as I let the water rinse her off. Her dimpled hand pats my arm as she starts drifting off to sleep, and it’s so warm and relaxing that for a long time I simply stand there in the shower, the water cascading over the both of us.

The house is quiet when I emerge from the bathroom. Holly wakes up again as I get us both dried and dressed, and I go to the kitchen and get her a bottle. I take it outside and sit on the porch sofa to feed her, watching Clementine nose at the grass and the stars twinkling in the dark sky.

_Tomorrow…it will be a year._

“Here, I thought you might need this.” Angela appears at my side and drapes a blanket around Holly. She hesitates for a tiny moment and then sits on the sofa beside me, reaching across to fold the blanket carefully around the baby’s head. “It’s pretty chilly out here. She’s not thirsty?”

I put the half-full bottle aside and shake my head. “Too tired I think. Or too full of candy. She fell asleep in the shower.”

“She really loves the water.”

“Yeah.” I slump lower against the sofa back, holding Holly a little closer. “I sometimes wonder if it’s because…she was born in the water, you know. She opened her eyes and looked at me before she even breathed…I scooped her out and she cried, but only once, just for a second. Then I gave her to Rosalie and she held her in the water so she was still warm and…I know she doesn’t remember it, I know she can’t…but sometimes I think that maybe part of her _does._ And that’s why she loves the water so much, because it takes her back to the moment in her life when she was safest and happiest, because she was with her momma…” I clear my throat. “I know it’s stupid, but…”

“It’s not stupid.” Angela says. “It’s beautiful. And no one really knows exactly how babies process memories so early on, so maybe you’re right.”

“I can show you.” I fumble for my phone. “I took a video right after she was born…if you want to see it…”

Somehow, on this night that’s so close to the anniversary of that dizzying bliss and devastating loss, I need to share this. _Please Angela, please relive this moment with me._

“I’d love to.” Angela shifts closer, her upper arm pressing comfortingly against mine as she leans in to watch. It’s the video I’ve watched thousands of times in the last year, of Rosalie and Holly in the bath after birth. The last moments of my wife’s life caught on camera as she laughed and cried and kissed our brand new daughter.

_“Holly Esme. Look Emmett, it’s Holly…oh sweet baby, I love you…look what we did, Emmett, look at our beautiful girl…”_

“That’s wonderful,” Angela says softly. “Holly’s just gorgeous, and such a big newborn! Rosalie looks so happy.”

“She was…the birth was everything she wanted.” I laugh a little bitterly. “She wanted to do a waterbirth with the twins and they wouldn’t let her – actually we had trouble finding an OB who didn’t want to automatically c-section her. We ended up with some old-school OB that Carlisle trained with, and a room full of med students and trainee midwives who wanted to see a natural twin birth. It kills me sometimes, that we had those two ‘risky’ births with the twins, especially Bram and Zeke because they were identical and sharing a placenta, and they went fine. And then it was the ‘safe’ one, the single baby, born intervention free in the water exactly like Rosalie wanted where it all went to hell.”

“I guess you never can tell.”

“No.” I play the video again. “I still can’t believe sometimes, when I look at this, that it all ended so badly. That we went from this…perfect moment…to disaster. Holly was born and I thought…we were safe, it was over, because of course you have some fears for the baby at the end of pregnancy, fears about how the birth might go…but she was born and she was breathing and it was all…it’s just pure bliss, you know? You know that birth carries risks, but you don’t think…once the baby is there…you would never expect…this.” My hand, holding the phone, is shaking. “We had that moment there, me and Rosalie and Holly, and…she was dead within an hour. I had everything and then…it was gone.”

“Oh, Emmett.” Angela squeezes my arm. “I don’t know what to say…I’m so sorry. But I’m glad for you and Holly that you have that beautiful birth to look back at.”

“That’s all Holly has. Just that one single moment there with her momma in the water, right after she was born. There aren’t any photos, there’ll never be any memories, or any stories to tell her. All that she’ll ever have is just this one tiny moment of video, and the burden of forever celebrating a birthday that also marks the anniversary of her mother’s death.” I stare down at my daughter’s beautiful sleeping face and once again my heart aches for the vastness of her loss.

“She has you though,” Angela says softly. “She has you, and the way you love her, and she’ll never have any need to doubt that.”

“Will she though?” The familiar guilt claws at my stomach. “I mean, I try and…god knows I love her, I do. But it’s been the hardest fucking thing of my life, to really see Holly instead of seeing what I’ve lost, and learn to love her anyway.” I shake my head. “It was never a question with the others – I loved them before they born and the first time I laid eyes on them all just filled my heart in a way that never left. But Holly…there was so much in the way. I’d look at her and see her mother and it made me feel like I was drowning all over again. It’s not like that now, but I am so damn scared that it’ll never be enough.”

“It’s enough. I promise you Emmett, it is enough, and Holly will know.” Angela brushes a light hand across Holly’s hair and then says, “Do you know when I decided to take this job? What made me decide to say yes and sign on?”

“What?”

“When I saw the way you were holding Holly, the first day I came out here,” Angela says simply. “That was it. I hadn’t been sure before then. I mean, I’d talked to Bella and Esme and I was interested, I needed a job and I thought it might be a good fit, but with Rosalie’s death…I was afraid of getting into a situation where I was nannying kids who’d lost their mom and who didn’t have a good father to lean on. I didn’t want to be the one who cared the most. But then I came out here to talk to you and you opened the door with Holly lying along your arm with her little legs dangling and it was just…she was so perfectly content and obviously trusted you so completely. Then you sat down to feed her when we got to the living room, and you held her so close and you kissed her like you didn’t even know you were doing it, and I knew that you were the kind of dad that I wanted to work with. It has always been blindingly clear how much you love your kids. It’s a tragedy that the kids don’t have their mom anymore, but when it comes to love and nurturing you give them everything they need.”

“All I’ve ever wanted is to do right by them. To be the dad that they need and deserve.”

“You do that. Every day you show up for them, and you give them your all in a way that’s really quite remarkable,” Angela says. “Especially when you consider how tough the last year has been.”

“Carlisle and Esme really taught me how it should be done. I mean, my bio mom and dad gave me a blueprint of what NOT to do, but Carlisle and Esme showed me what good parenting and real love looks like. I wouldn’t be able to do half of this if I didn’t have them to look to. And Rosalie was…she was a really good mom too. She read like five hundred books about raising kids and she really thought about everything, you know? She was so smart, and she loved them so fiercely and…” My voice catches. “God, I miss her so much for me, but I miss her so much for _them_ too. And not just for now, but for what they won’t have in the future. They don’t get to have her standing at their backs as they grow up and go out into the world. She won’t be there when they graduate school or have their first heartbreak or move out of home or get a job or get married or have kids of their own… They’ll never know all she was, never really know how much she loved them.” Feeling defeated, I lean my head back and close my eyes. “I can’t believe that tomorrow it will have been a year.”

“It’s going to be a hard day,” Angela says quietly. “The anniversary, Holly’s birthday…it’s going to be a lot.”

“Yeah.” I look down at Holly, and hold her a little tighter. “It’s weird though, I know tomorrow is going to be rough and I have to brace for that, but I’ve been dreading tonight almost as much. I thought I’d be drowning in the memories and the grief and the hurt all over again, but now that I’m here there’s just…not much. All I can think about is stupid stuff. Like how anal Rosalie was about flossing her teeth. Every damn night! Even our fucking _wedding_ night, I’m naked and ready to go and she’s like, “Oh wait, my teeth…” Like, what the fuck?” Angela giggles and I’m laughing too as I go on. “And she was so vain. I mean, good reason and all, considering what she looked like, but she couldn’t walk past a mirror without checking herself out. And the way she always wanted to look tough, so she cried when she had to trade in her BMW for a minivan and pretended she wasn’t. All that’s so stupid, but it’s all I can think about! The way she made us watch the Little Mermaid every time she was feeling shitty, and she used to yell at me for drinking milk out of the carton, and she never let me tattoo her and…”

But I can’t go on. Out of nowhere feeling _not much_ suddenly becomes feeling _everything_ and I’m swamped by a wave of grief so powerful that there’s nothing else but pain. I make a noise, a godawful moaning wail that wakes Holly, and then I’m sobbing. Holly cries too, and I hold her close, kissing and shushing as tears run down my face. “I’m sorry Holly baby, I’m sorry, shhh…oh fuck…oh _Rosa-girl…”_

I don’t have to bear it alone though. Angela is right there beside me, catching me as I fall, gathering Holly and I into her arms and giving me her strength as a rock against the storm. There is no pity or embarrassment from her, just tenderness and compassion as she kisses Holly’s forehead and strokes my hair as I sob against her, and infinite patience as she lets me grieve and waits for me to quieten.

Even when the sobbing stops, I don’t move. I’m slumped down against Angela with an awkward crick in my back, but Holly is quiet in my arms and looking at me with Rosalie’s eyes, and Angela is holding me with a warmth and strength that feels like balm to my wounded soul. As my breathing slows even more I begin to feel her heart, beating its steady rhythm behind me.

“I’m sorry,” I say at last, “I didn’t mean to do that…I didn’t even know it was coming. I’m sorry for unloading it on you.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind, I’m here for you.”

Holly reaches up to touch my face, and I kiss her chubby fingers and smile even as the tears drip silently down my cheeks. My funny jellybean baby, with her dandelion fluff of platinum curls and her mother’s eyes, she really has become the light in the darkness that Esme once told me she would be.

_I wouldn’t be without you now, Holly Esme. No matter what…I’m so glad you’re mine baby girl._

Angela’s hand smooths my hair, again and again, and I close my eyes as I feel even more of the tension draining out of me. God, this feels good. Someone holding me, someone taking care of me for a change, nothing else expected of me but to just _be…_ I did not realise, until right now, how desperately I needed this.

_You make me feel whole again._

Eventually I push myself upright, rubbing my sleeve across my face and giving Angela a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t expect that…I mean, I was just sitting here saying how I wasn’t feeling much and then…that. So sorry.”

“Oh Emmett.” So quick I almost miss it Angela leans forward and kisses my cheek. “It’s fine. You needed it, and I’m glad I could be here for you.”

“Well…thank you.” Feeling limp and exhausted, I lean back against the sofa with a sigh.

“Do you want me to put her in her crib?” Angela asks.

I look down at the baby. Holly is asleep again, snuggled up against my chest, and I tenderly draw the blanket closer. “That’s okay. I thought I might sit up for a while, and she’s happy enough where she is.”

I’m so tired, but with the anniversary of Rosalie’s death only hours away I can’t bring myself to sleep. It might not make sense, but I need to spend this time with my memories, holding vigil for my wife with the baby that shared her death right here in my arms.

“I don’t need to be anywhere,” Angela says quietly. “If you want some company?”

“I think…I’d like that.”

______________________________________________

“Daddy…Daddy help? Open mine candy?”

I jerk into wakefulness to see Bram, face and hands covered in a gooey mess of melted chocolate and multi-coloured drool, holding a Three Musketeers bar out to me.

“Daddy help?” he asks again. His grubby hands can’t get a grip on the wrapper as he tries to tear it open.

“How much have you already had?” I ask, sitting up. The house is ominously quiet. “How did you even get out of your room?” I grab the sticky bar from him and head out to the kitchen.

“No!” Bram shrieks, running after me in rage. “Mine candy! MINE!”

Zeke is the only other kid awake, and he’s sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by six upended buckets and all the Halloween candy, chocolate and candy smeared all over his face and pyjamas. He takes one look at my face and immediately starts cramming fistfuls of candy into his mouth before I can take it away.

“Candy MINE!” Bram reaches futilely for the candy I have in my hand, and then he and Zeke both start wailing as I go down on my knees and start tossing what they haven’t eaten back into cauldrons and pumpkin buckets. There are an astonishing number of torn wrappers; it seems like they’ve developed some pretty good fine motor skills when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Did they eat ALL the candy?” Probably woken by all the yelling, Mac and Noah and Daisy come down the stairs and stand in the kitchen doorway, gawking at the carnage.

“Not quite all of it,” I say grimly, piling the now much lighter buckets on top of the refrigerator. “Sorry guys, I don’t know how they got out of their room.”

“They can climb the baby gate,” Mac tells me. “I saw them do it yesterday.”

“Great,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “That’ll make my life easier, the two of them roaming free and uncontained at all hours of the night…I’m going to get Holly out of her crib. And investigate prison bars.”

Ignoring Bram and Zeke, who are now sprawled full length on the kitchen floor and howling, I go to Holly’s room where I’m met with a beaming smile and upraised arms. I scoop her up and give her a hug, nuzzling into her neck and feeling her giggle and squirm. _Happy birthday precious girl._ I change her diaper and carry her back into the kitchen, where I find that Bram and Zeke have shoved a chair across the room to the refrigerator and are climbing on it, trying to reach the candy I’ve put up high.

“Enough!” I say, hastily putting Holly down and grabbing Zeke as he attempts to scale the kitchen counter. “You’ve already eaten pounds of it, anyone would think you’ve never seen food before…no more!” I grab a washcloth and clean off two pouting faces and four sticky hands, before wiping up the array of smeary little handprints that cover the floor, the chair and the fridge.

“Happy birthday Holly-Golly-Lolly!” Noah crouches down by his sister, letting her hold onto his pyjamas so she can stagger to her feet. “Dad, do we have presents for Holly?”

“Yeah, they’re in a bag under my bed.” I scrub at some candy that’s melted onto the kitchen floor. “Take Holly into the living room and I’ll go and get them.”

Noah holds Holly’s hands and guides her teetering steps into the living room. She’s so close to walking on her own. I wipe up the last smear of the chocolate and toss the cloth at the sink before I go to my room to grab the gifts.

“Happy birthday Holly!”

Sitting on the floor, Holly looks utterly amazed as the older kids snatch the presents off me and start offering them to her. She takes the wrapped parcels but doesn’t even know what to do with them, and I laugh as she just turns the box over and over in her hands with a look of delight.

“Like this,” Daisy says, showing Holly how to tear through the wrapping paper. “Open it! Dad, you need to take a picture – it’s her first birthday!”

Holly crows with laughter as she rips through the paper, and I take photos with a slightly unsteady hand as she unwraps her llama hat and then tries to put it on her head. Daisy helps her straighten it out, and she wears it while Mac and Noah push other presents at her. She looks at her new books, and then tears the paper off her doll, holding it on her lap and jamming the plastic bottle that came with it in the vague direction of its face.

“Ba-ba,” she tells me, and I don’t know if she means _bottle_ or _baby_ , but I either way I know we’re getting closer to her first word.

The fire truck is next and she loves it, with its noisy siren and buttons lighting up. It’s the kind of toy I buy because I know the kids will love it, even though an hour from now I’ll probably be wishing I could tear out the batteries and throw the obnoxious thing out the window. I grin as I watch Holly crawl along pushing the truck, holding her own against Bram and Zeke who are crawling along beside her jabbing at the buttons.

“What’s this last present?” Daisy reaches up and touches the small, slim package that’s still tucked under my arm.

The charm bracelet. Holly’s too little to wear it and is too busy with the truck to be interested, so I hand it to Daisy.

“You can open it for Holly if you want. It’s a special one and I wanted her to have it, but she’s really too little to understand.”

Daisy peels back the paper and opens the jeweller’s box, revealing a flash of silver. “A charm bracelet the same as mine! We’ve got the same charms, the birthday cake and the bear and the…no, wait, this is a fairy. I had a robot for mom…” Daisy looks up at me, sudden tears glinting in her eyes. “It’s not a fairy, is it? It’s an angel.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I thought that was good for Holly, an angel to remind her that her mommy is always watching over her…what do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect.” Daisy takes a deep breath, and then her tears are gone as she smiles at me. “It’s just right, and Holly will love it when she’s older. But for now I think she would really just love some waffles for her birthday breakfast…she likes food more than bracelets right now.”


	45. What Will Survive

_This time a year ago…_

The words echo in my head as the children and I eat breakfast. _This time a year ago…_ Even as I toast waffles and pour juice and wipe messy little faces and hands I keep seeing, in abrupt, vivid flashes of memory, what was happening this time a year ago. Rosalie rocking on the exercise ball and watching the Little Mermaid. The silken shine of her hair as I brushed it in between contractions. The tight, hard round belly in between us as I hugged her before we headed off to the hospital.

The way we had believed wholeheartedly, as the pain strengthened and birth grew closer, that we were on the brink of something magical.

_Rosalie…I loved you so much._

We have plans for the anniversary of Rosalie’s death, so I keep the kids home from school and take the day off work. I’m surprised therefore when I come out of my room after having a shower to find Angela sitting on the floor in the living room, surrounded by the kids and admiring Holly’s new toys.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today – I did remember to give you the day off, right?”

“You did,” Angela confirms. “But I wanted to give Holly her birthday gift…I hope you don’t mind?”

“No, not at all.” I grin as Holly, now an expert, joyously tears the paper off the package Angela hands her.

It’s clothes, a little blue corduroy pinafore dress with a pocket with patchwork flowers on it, and a matching t-shirt and leggings with ruffles on the butt. There’s a tiny patchwork teddy tucked into the pocket, and some hairclips with bows on them.

“I made the dress and the bear and the bows,” Angela tells me, as Holly pulls out the little bear and Daisy exclaims over how cute it all is. “I remembered what you said that time, about Rosalie and the kids’ clothes and the bows, and I thought…I mean, not that you don’t dress her fine but she wears a lot of Bram and Zeke’s hand me downs now and…” Her face is getting redder with every word, and I laugh and give her an unexpected hug.

“Thank you. I love it – and you did a great job making them! Beautiful birthday clothes, aren’t they Jellybean? Let’s get you all dressed up, and then since she’s here Angie can do your hair with your new bows, because god knows Daddy still can’t do pigtails in your fluffy baby hair.”

My heart catches when I look at her in her dress and bows, suddenly less like the baby she was and more like the little girl she’ll become. I feel it again, time slipping through my fingers, the year since she was born suddenly feeling not long enough for her to be who she is now. Where is the newborn with her fuzz of fair hair and wrinkled, velvety skin in the toddler that’s standing up holding her sister’s hand and laughing at me?

_How can it be that we’ve lived a lifetime without your mother, and at the same time it feels like only yesterday that you opened your eyes under the water and looked at me? A whole year since I scooped you up and watched you take your first breath, and yet it’s almost like I can still feel the slickness of your newborn skin in my hands?_

I gather up the torn wrapping paper and move to the kitchen to throw it in the trash. Angela shifts Bram off her lap and follows me.

“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay too,” she says a little hesitantly. “Today’s going to be hard and I wanted you to know I’m thinking of you all.”

“I’m all right.” I reach up onto the fridge and get down one of the pumpkin buckets, offering it to her. “Halloween candy?” I toss a handful of candy corn into my mouth. “Turns out Bram and Zeke can climb over the baby gate now, they broke out of their room this morning and ate probably half of what the kids bagged last night. I’m surprised they weren’t sick…” I sigh and lean against the counter. “Really though, thank you. Thank you for last night too, and Holly’s gift, and just being…the way you are.”

I can’t articulate what I mean any better than that. But I am so grateful for Angela’s presence, for the steady friendship and kindness she has shown me during the darkest times of my life. I hired her to take care of my kids, but she has been so much more than that for all of us.

For a moment I feel it again, that _something_ that flickered between us when I did her tattoo. The same feeling that stole over me as I listened to her heartbeat last night. To feel it again so soon, and on today of all days…it’s odd and unsettling, and I’m almost relieved when Angela takes a candy bar from the bucket and tells me she has to go.

A little later there’s another car coming up the drive, and the kids and I head out to the porch to greet Jasper and Alice as they climb out of their rental car.

“Hello!” Alice bounds up the steps, immediately wrapping Daisy in a hug. She gives her a smacking kiss and then moves onto the other kids, giving them the same. “Hello everyone!”

She ends with me, jumping at me so that I catch her in a hug like she’s still a kid, holding her high enough that she can kiss my cheeks and look me straight in the eyes. “Emmett…how are you? Okay? Ready for today?”

“I’m okay,” I say. “And ready enough I guess…I’m glad you could come.” I include Jasper in this, as he comes up the steps behind Alice and starts giving hugs to all the kids as well.

“As if we’d miss it.” Alice drops back to her feet and then crouches down to greet Holly, who is crawling up the hallway to see what’s going on. “It’s the birthday girl! Oh my god, she’s so grown up! And her outfit is so adorable!” She lifts Holly up, staggering slightly as the baby’s weight pulls her off balance. “Woah, I’m going to have to start going to the gym if I want to be able to pick you up much longer. You’re going to be as tall as your daddy if you keep this up Holly…I’ll be wearing your hand me downs before you graduate from elementary school.”

“We have to measure her,” I say, “I thought I’d wait for you though.”

Alice’s eyes sparkle. “Oh yes, I’d love to!”

We all crowd back into the kitchen and I grab a pen while Alice ceremoniously stands Holly on her feet by the doorframe that’s already marked all over with names showing how we’ve grown. Once a year for all my kids, for Alice and I when we were kids, for my Momma and even, worn away now, my grandma who grew up in this house too.

It takes a bit of coaxing, but Holly eventually stands straight enough that I can hold a ruler against the top of her head and add her name to the cluster of others marked at previous first birthdays. _Holly Esme._ I love seeing it there, higher than any other name except mine.

Another ritual shared, another step forward, another piece of the puzzle of Holly’s life fitted into place. And a year in, I’m starting to see her life take on a shape that’s whole and beautiful, and so much more than the shattered dream of her birth.

Esme and Carlisle arrive later. Bella and Edward, with Eliza and baby Rob, are not too far behind them. Jack and Lily follow them. It feels like a party with the house so crowded and everyone giving Holly birthday presents, but for me it’s a very muted celebration. Because today is more than just Holly’s birthday, and everyone is here for more than just watching her blow out her candles.

Today is the day we’re going to spread Rosalie’s ashes. A year to the day that her light left the world, I’m going to scatter her ashes at the river that runs by our house and try, a final time, to say goodbye.

Once everyone has arrived, I tell Carlisle I need a minute and slip away into the spare room. I close the door behind me and take a deep breath. Scattering the ashes will be a shared event, but before I can do that I need this moment alone to gather my thoughts and still my heart.

Rosalie’s urn is where it has always been, nestled carefully in the closet. I take it out and hold it, my fingers tracing the filigreed copper outer and my heart aching. Rosalie, my wife, that beautiful force of personality that I had thought unstoppable…this is what is left. And after today, even this will be gone.

I don’t know the exact time of Rosalie’s death. I wasn’t down in the OR when they called it, and I have never read the reports and the paperwork from the doctors and the medical examiner that would tell me. But what I do know is the time of Holly’s birth, 11.18am, and as the clock ticks over to that fateful minute I raise the urn and press my lips against the cold metal.

_This time a year ago…_

I close my eyes and remember, but this time it’s not the blood that comes to mind. Instead it’s Rosalie’s face, perfect and beautiful, and the way that her happiness as she held our baby daughter had lit her from the inside until she was glowing. And it makes me smile, because she was beautiful and I loved her, and I was lucky enough that our last real moments together were sublime.

_Oh, my beautiful girl, my heart…I loved you._

I go and call for everyone to get ready to head down to the river. I leave the urn on the kitchen table while I help Bram and Zeke into rain boots, as the other kids find boots and pull on jackets. I strap Holly onto my back in the baby carrier, and then go to the kitchen to find Mac examining the urn suspiciously.

“Is this really Mom?” he asks. “Can I pick it up?”

“If you want. And yes, it’s really Mom.”

Mac turns it over in his hands and then shakes it, before he looks up in sudden horror. “I can hear a noise! It’s not full of, like…bones and teeth is it?”

I stifle a laugh. “No. It’s Mom’s ashes so it’s just like what’s left after the fire burns right down. A little bit ashy and sandy and gritty.”

“And is this going to be like the funeral?” he asks me, a little dolefully. “Talking and stuff?”

“Do _you_ want to make a speech?” I ask. “Because you can if you want! But otherwise it’s not really going to be like the funeral. We’re just going to see the memorial stone that we’ve put down by the river for Mommy, and then scatter her ashes in the water.”

Once everyone is ready we walk down to the river. I have Holly on my back and Daisy and Noah holding my hands. Zeke runs ahead with Jack keeping pace, and Bram stumps along behind me holding Alice’s hand. Mac walks with Carlisle, Rosalie’s urn hugged to his chest. Jasper gives Eliza a piggyback ride, and Edward carries baby Rob while Bella walks beside them. Esme and Lily follow, Lily’s camera slung around her neck. Clementine comes with us too, nudging in next to Daisy, her long grey ears flicking backwards and forwards inquisitively.

We all gather on the riverbank, by the memorial we’ve raised for Rosalie. I’ve chosen a natural boulder, a chunk of granite taller than Bram and Zeke, a good rock for climbing and sitting and playing on. A rock that will always be here, solid and enduring alongside the rushing water, a rock that seems to belong in this place and where we can come and be while we remember.

I’d seen it delivered, I’d chosen its place under the willow and down near the water line. But I haven’t seen, until today, the bronze memorial plaque that Jack had wanted fixed to it. I hadn’t cared either way about a plaque, but when I see the kids immediately go to it, tracing their fingers over the raised letters and excitedly calling at me to _come see, it has my name!_ I’m glad that I listened to Jack and let him do it. I kneel down beside the kids and find myself reaching out to touch it too.

“What does it say?” Eliza asks.

“It’s says _In memory of Rosalie Lillian Hale,”_ Daisy reads aloud. “ _Daughter to Jack and Lily. Wife to Emmett. Mother to Daisy, McCarty, Noah, Bram, Zeke and Holly.”_ She stops, her voice choked with tears.

Noah reaches out and runs his fingers along the last line. _“What will survive of us is love,”_ he reads. He looks over at me. “What does that mean?”

_It means that love outlasts death._

“It means that even though Mommy is gone, the love isn’t gone too,” I say softly, reaching out to touch his hair. It’s growing back, and the strands feel like silk, like Rosalie’s hair, as I brush it back from his face. “She loved you so much, you loved her so much, and dying doesn’t change that. We still have that, we will _always_ have that…does that makes sense?”

Noah nods, his lip trembling, and I draw him into my arms for a hug. As I hold him I look over his shoulder at Jack, who has tears running freely down his face, and I reach out a hand to him too. “Thank you,” I say, and he reaches towards me and grasps my hand.

“It’s the last line to a poem*,” he tells me gruffly. “I don’t know anything about poetry – Lily found it, but I thought it fit…”

“It does.” I don’t say anything else. I don’t need to. For once, I know that Jack and I are in perfect agreement. 

_What will survive of us is love._

What Rosalie and I had between us, the love that lit up my world and created this beautiful family, endures and lives on still. Rosalie is gone, but that kind of love can’t ever be erased and all of us gathered here are a testament to the strength of what has been left behind.

I don’t immediately rush into doing what we came here for. It’s a sunny day and the kids are having fun doing exactly what I’d envisioned when I chose the rock, climbing up on it and jumping off and letting their imaginations roam. The little twins are throwing rocks and sticks into the stream, shrieking and laughing as the water splashes. It feels good to be here, and when I think about this being Rosalie’s final place I feel a kind of peace. This stream was my escape when I was a kid, it’s always been a place of fun and joy with my own kids, and now it’s going to be the place where we can all go to be with our memories of Rosalie. I smile, and reach for the urn.

“We ready to do this?”

The kids come crowding close, the adults moving to stand behind them. I hesitate for a moment, turning the urn over in my hands, and then say, “I know I told Mac there wouldn’t be speeches, but…”

“Aww Daa-aad,” Mac groans, and there’s a quick ripple of laughter.

“I’ll be quick,’ I promise him. “But I just want to say thank you to everyone here. This past year has been…well, you know what it’s been.” I swallow hard, looking at the faces around me. “When Rosalie went, I didn’t know how I could keep living. I didn’t know how my life could work without her, and with her gone I was lost…but you all held me up when I fell and carried me when I was broken and loved me hard enough to make a light for the dark, and I would never have made it here without you. ALL of you,” I say, including my children in this, because their pure hearts and unconditional love has always meant everything. “So even though we’re here say goodbye to my girl one more time, I wanted to say thank you too. I appreciate everything you’ve done, and I love you all a lot.”

I look away before the tears start rolling, and unscrew the lid of the urn with steady hands. For a moment I stand still, staring down at the pale grey, sandy looking ashes and wondering how this can be all that’s left of the glorious, perfect, beauty of my Rosalie.

Mac tugs on my arm, wanting to see. The other kids are curious too, so I crouch down and they peer apprehensively at the urn. I see the relief on their face that it’s not gruesome or frightening, and they all move a little closer. Zeke, who always wants to be right in the middle of everything, looks a little _too_ closely, nearly putting his face right into the urn and then staggering backwards with an enormous sneeze.

I can’t stop my snort of laughter. He just looks so astonished, his eyelashes and eyebrows white with ash. “Achoo!” he tells me, pointing at the urn. “Sneezy… achoo!”

I’m not the only one laughing now, and I’m glad. It feels irreverent, but as the kids giggle I think that this is the way I want it to be. Today is about saying goodbye and releasing the past, but also about looking ahead and welcoming the future. And for all the sorrow, for all the pain that I still feel over losing my Rosa-girl…I want a future that holds laughter.

“Let’s do this.” I kick off my sneakers and wade a few steps into the stream, the cold water soaking the legs of my jeans. The kids splash with me, reaching up, wanting to help. Somehow we make it work, all their little hands touching mine as we upend the urn and let Rosalie’s ashes fall.

It’s not particularly graceful. Most of the ashes fall in a clump into the water, almost immediately disappearing as the current takes them. But a gust of wind takes a tiny wisp, lifting it high and sending it flying further out over the water, and that’s what I watch. The last of my beautiful Rosalie, ashes drifting high in the wind and disappearing into the bright blue sky.

_Oh, my Rosa-girl…goodbye._

“Yay!” Bram and Zeke break the silence with a simultaneous cheer, clapping hands and bending to scoop up river water and fling it exuberantly into the air. “All gone!”

There’s both laughter and tears then, and I rinse the urn in the river to make sure that it’s clear and nudge the kids out of the river because my bare feet are going numb in the cold water. There are hugs and kisses and love from everyone, and Lily takes a photo of the kids and I by the memorial rock before everyone starts heading back to the house. Edward lingers, but I push Holly into his arms and tell him that if he doesn’t mind taking her I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll follow them up.

I sit on the grass, leaning against the rock and letting my feet dry before I put my sneakers back on, feeling the wind lift my hair and the sun warm on my skin. Clementine noses at the grass by my side and I rub the soft fur on her chest and let her lip at my palm. I think about Rosalie, and I think that she would be happy with what we’ve done here today. My eyes drift towards the plaque, reading the words slowly over again, her name and all that she was to us, and the quote at the bottom that speaks right to my heart.

_What will survive of us is love._

Because love outlasts death. And instead of being grief stricken over what I’ve lost, I find myself smiling over what I had and what I get to keep.

_I got nineteen years of wonderful with you, Rosa-girl. Nineteen years of a love so strong and pure that even death can’t take it away. I’m learning to let you go and live without you, I’m moving forward, but I’ll always keep a part of that with me. The memory of that love, the memory of what you were to me and what we were together and what we built on the bedrock of that love…I will always have that._

_I love you so much._

_Goodbye._

* * *

_*The quote comes from the poem "An Arundel Tomb" by Philip Larkin._


	46. Mistletoe and Holly

“Come on Jellybean,” I coax, holding out my arms. “You can do it…just put one foot in front of the other and walk to Daddy!”

Holly, standing in between Angela’s thighs on the other side of the living room, just laughs at me. She lets go of Angela’s legs and stands on her own, leaning forward slightly…but then she just plops back down onto her bottom and crawls across to me, giggling the whole way.

“She’s doing it on purpose, isn’t she?” I say to Angela, growling like a bear and rolling Holly over as I tickle her. “I know she can do it! YOU know she can do it, EVERYONE knows she can do it…but no! You’re just teasing me Holly-bean, aren’t you? You think it’s funny that Daddy’s going to end up in traction because my back’s gone after walking hunched over holding your hand because you won’t walk alone, hmmm?” I lift up her shirt and blow noisy raspberries onto her round belly.

Angela laughs. “She’s only thirteen months old,” she points out. “It’s not like she’s delayed at all!”

“I know, I know,” I sigh, tickling Holly while she shrieks with laughter. “But all the other kids walked earlier. Bram and Zeke on the same day, just before their first birthday, Daisy and Noah around eleven months…Mac walked at nine months and started running about two days later, he’s always been keen on causing trouble.” I grin, swinging Holly high above my head and kissing her dimpled cheeks before setting her back on the floor. “You’ll do it when you’re ready, I know that…you’re probably just lazy. Like your old man.”

“You’re not lazy.” Angela starts gathering together the board books she’d been looking at with Holly. “You’ve been working really hard lately, and with six kids the work at home never goes away.”

“Yeah, but I’m home at 4pm today!” I grin at her. “Lucky cancellation…if you want to head off early you can. I can manage dinner and bedtime.”

Angela hesitates. “Are you still going to put up the Christmas tree today?”

“Oh yeah, but you don’t have to …” I stop, suddenly realising by the way she’s not looking at me that Angela actually wants, very much, to stay and be part of this Christmas ritual. “You can though! We’d love to have you stay and help.”

Angela goes pink as she smiles at me. “Thank you, I’d really love to stay.” She drops the board books back into the toy basket. “I love Christmas! But there won’t be anyone but me at home this year, and it’s hard to get enthusiastic about decorating just for me.”

“What about your mom and brothers?” I take the doll and bottle Holly shoves at me and pretend to feed it.

“Josh is staying in Maine with Megan, they’re going to her family for Christmas. Isaac is flying in to spend the holiday with them. The nursing home do a Christmas lunch, but my mom isn’t well enough for eating in the dining room anymore, and honestly won’t even know it’s Christmas so I don’t know…” A shadow of worry drifts across Angela’s features.

I hate seeing her so sad. “Do you want to come to lunch with us? Edward and Bella are hosting this year, her dad’s going to be there and Alice and Jasper are coming in from New York. We’d love to have you too.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll tell Bella you’re coming,” I say firmly. “Come on, the kids would love to have you there for Christmas. You can spend the morning with your mom and then come to ours.”

“I’ll call Bella,” Angela says, brightening a little. “See what she wants me to bring.”

“Your apple pie,” I say. “Make that, no one else does it as good as you.” I grin at her and hand Holly back the doll, who hugs it to her chest and starts patting its back. “I’m going to get Mac and make him do his reading, if we’re going to do this tree after dinner they need to get their homework out of the way first.”

Angela listens to Mac read while I test Noah on his spelling words, and then I help Mac with some math problems while Angela works with Daisy on her ecosystem project. Daisy’s chosen the Australian outback, and once she finishes colouring her last kangaroo I bring out a pile of paper and the box of markers and crayons so we can write Santa letters.

The kids flock to the table, talking animatedly about what they’re going to ask for. For a moment I flash back to last year, the agony of thinking about wishes when all I wanted was Rosalie, but just as quickly I push it out of my mind. I don’t want to think about that, not when the kids are laughing and this all feels like such a different place to the way it was back then.

It hits me all over again as I look at them, how much time has passed and how much has changed. Daisy’s writing a letter, but with a quick smirk and a wink my way that tells me clearly that she no longer believes in Santa. Mac’s writing his own letter, misspelled and messy, but he’s writing it. Noah’s not asking for funny things like alarm clocks and electric guitars, but writing down a list of book series he wants, as well as his own laptop. Bram and Zeke are sitting up at the table scribbling too, just because they want to be a part of things. Even Holly is there, held on my lap and playing with markers, her face liberally decorated with splashes of colour. It’s nothing like last year, but this time the differences make me smile.

_Look at them, getting bigger and smarter and more beautiful every day. You would be so proud of how they’re growing, Rosa-girl…I hope you can see them. I hope you know._

Once the letters are done, Angela cooks up an early dinner while I bathe the three little ones and organise the big kids to clean up the living room so we’ll have room for the tree. Learning from the debacle of last year I assemble the tree within three walls of the playpen, the fourth side ready to be slotted into place as soon as we’re done. Bram and Zeke are older now, but Holly uses anything she can reach to pull herself up to stand, and I don’t want any more trees falling on babies’ heads.

I bring all the decorations up from the basement after dinner, and the kids immediately begin pulling things out, draping themselves with tinsel and showing Angela all the handmade ornaments before they hang them. Holly pulls things off the tree almost as quickly as they go on, and I spend all my time either trying to distract her or lifting kids up so they can reach the higher branches. It’s a somewhat lopsided looking tree that we finish up with, but the kids are happy.

“Who’s going to do the star?” I ask. “Holly did it last year – sort of – so whose turn now?”

“Mine!” Daisy jumps up and grabs the star. “Holly did it last year because she was the baby, now we start with me and go back down in age order.”

I raise her up to my shoulder. “So next time Holly does it she’ll be six…she might be tall enough to reach it herself by then,” I say with a laugh, looking down at Holly just in time to see her take a bite out of a styrofoam candy cane decoration. “Oh Angie, do you want to grab Jellybean – she’s eating a pretty disappointing dessert down there.”

Daisy sits the star on the topmost branch, and then skips back to the decoration tub and pulls out a slightly misshapen wreath. “And the mistletoe!” she says with a giggle, jumping up on the arm of the sofa so that she can lay it on my head like a crown. “For kissing!”

I give her a smacking kiss on the cheek and then grin devilishly at the other kids. “Who’s next?”

Mac makes retching noises and declares, “Kissing is gross!” but Noah crash tackles me from the other side of the room, laughing hysterically as I heft him up in my arms and plant several noisy kisses on his cheeks and forehead and chin and belly. Bram and Zeke hurl themselves at my knees and I drop Noah onto the sofa and seize them up in my arms, laughing too as they both hit me up with wet, sloppy kisses into my neck and cheeks. “Kisses for you things too!”

“Holly too!” Daisy says, jumping on the sofa with Noah. “Kisses for Holly too!”

My arms are full of Bram and Zeke, but Angela is right there with Holly. Laughing and pressing her close as Holly stretches towards me, shrieking in joy and slobbering over my cheek as I nuzzle into her neck, making wildly overexaggerated kissing noises to make her laugh. Holly grabs at the wreath, pulling it halfway down my face and nearly taking my eye out with the fake greenery. I give her one last smacking kiss and pull away laughing, but then my eyes meet Angela’s and it feels like the whole game changes.

_I want to kiss you too._

The thought hits me out of nowhere, and I stumble backwards in confusion as heat sweeps across my face. There have been oddly charged moments between Angela and I, that indefinable _something…_ but never has it expressed itself so clearly as what I can only name as desire.

_I want to kiss you too._

To feel that kind of want again, to feel drawn to another in that way again…it takes my breath away with the suddenness and intensity of it. Disconcerted, I turn away from Angela so I don’t have to look at her, letting Bram and Zeke down and yanking the wreath off my head, my heart thumping. I don’t know what to do with this feeling, not now. Not anymore.

“We can only hang this wreath up if you promise not to do anymore kissing,” Mac says to me sternly.

I force a laugh. “Scout’s honour, I won’t.” I straighten the wreath and hang it in its old place, just above the door to the kitchen. 

“You’re not a scout,” Daisy points out, almost disappearing into the Rubbermaid tub after more decorations. “All we’ve got left are stockings.” She comes out with a handful of embroidered stockings and she and Mac and Noah start hanging them up on the mantlepiece.

I don’t realise, until I gather up the bags and small boxes that held ornaments and go to put them away in the plastic tub, that there’s one stocking Daisy left behind. An old one, made of quilted purple velvet embroidered with beaded snowflakes, the name stitched in script with gold thread.

_Rosalie._

I reach out and touch it, the velvet soft under my fingertips. _Rosalie._ Her stocking that she’d had since childhood, hung with mine from the first Christmas we spent together in this house. I’d hung it last year too, even knowing that it was going to remain empty, unable to bear the thought of not including her in this Christmas ritual, not willing to accept the reality that she was gone.

It feels different this year. A year ago, Rosalie’s absence was a gaping hole in our lives, a loss so profound it was impossible to avoid the emptiness. That loss is still there, but as I look at the stocking lying in the bottom of the tub and trace the letters of her name, I realise again how far we’ve come. The kids and I…we don’t feel irretrievably broken anymore. Somewhere along the line we started to feel like a family again. Not the family we were, but something different, something that might not be what we intended but that has grown into its own kind of strength and meaning.

“We can hang it up if you want,” Daisy says from beside my elbow. “But I thought…well, Mom’s not coming back and I think having her stocking hanging up empty is just going to remind everyone of that and make us feel bad.”

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her in close for a hug. “I think you’re right,” I say softly. “I think this year we should just leave it in the box.”

And I lay the stocking gently down, smoothing it out before I put the other boxes and bags into the tub and snap on the lid.

Once we’re done with the decorating it’s later than the time Angela usually finishes, but she stays to help me put the kids in bed anyway. I brush teeth while she changes diapers, and then Angela heads upstairs to settle Mac and Noah with their bedtime story podcast and tuck Daisy in. I get Bram and Zeke lying quietly on their bed and then heat a bottle for Holly, carrying her into the living room and snuggling her on my lap while she drinks it.

“I told Daisy she could read for fifteen minutes,” Angela says, dropping onto the sofa with a sigh. “And she was asking me about wearing a bra.”

“What?” I blink at her. “As in…she wants one? She’s only nine; isn’t that kind of young?”

“It’s pretty young,” Angela says. “But since she’s been moved into the higher group at gymnastics she’s been spending a lot more time with girls who are a year or two older – I suspect she just doesn’t want to be the baby in the locker room.”

“Does it matter that much? I mean, whether she wears a bra or not seems pretty immaterial when you consider that the only bumps on her chest are her ribs.”

Angela smiles. “Maybe for now. But she told me she’s had some tenderness, which is usually the first sign that things are starting to happen.”

“Okay then…wow. I guess I wasn’t expecting that right now! She’s still so little; I thought we had more time. Damn…do I need to go out and buy pads or something? There are probably still tampons shoved in the back of the bathroom cabinet – although I don’t even know, since Rosalie’s back to back pregnancies mean she didn’t have a period for nearly two years and…seriously? _Daisy?_ ”

The idea of my little Daisy bug as a teenager rattles me, and once again I have that same feeling of time twisting and stretching as it slips through my fingers.

“I don’t think you need to worry too much just yet,” Angela says. “She’s still a while away from full on puberty. If she wants a bra it won’t hurt to buy her one, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she gets bored of the whole thing after a while and leaves it in her drawer. I also don’t think she’s going to get her period anytime soon, but it’s probably a good idea to have supplies on hand and make sure she’s prepared and knows what to expect.”

“Oh, that part’s covered. Rosalie bought her a couple of books and read them with her, and they had a girls’ assembly at school that went through it all too. She and I talked about it too…I thought she was okay talking about any of that stuff with me.” I frown.

“She asked me to tell you about the bra,” Angela says gently. “She wanted you to know, but she was just embarrassed to bring it up.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m glad she had you to talk to.” I give her a lop-sided smile. “I just want her to be comfortable, and I guess you probably know more about the whole subject than I do. I mean, what I know about bras and shopping for them is probably…uh, not all that relevant to my nine year old daughter getting her first one.”

I feel a flicker of nostalgia for silk and satin and lace and all kinds of other delicate bits of not very much, and the very beautiful wife I had who wore them.

Angela laughs. “I’m happy to take her shopping, but she doesn’t need to be measured for size so it’s probably just as easy to buy something online. A crop top style, or a training bra…I can ask her what she wants.” She gets out her phone and starts searching.

“Whatever you think is best is fine,” I say. “Like I said, I don’t really know anything about this part of it…Rosalie certainly wasn’t wearing training bras by the time I got involved with her underwear. And I’d left home by the time Alice got one.”

Angela grins at me. “I wore a training bra until I was nearly fifteen,” she confides in me. “I was a late bloomer. In everything except height that is! It wasn’t much fun being the tallest girl and also having the flattest chest, I’ll say that.”

“I was always the tallest too, but that’s not a hard thing when you’re a guy.” I put aside the empty bottle and hold Holly a little tighter, watching the flickering Christmas lights cast shadows on her beautiful face as she yawns. “I should probably stop this bedtime bottle soon. She doesn’t need it, and it’s not good for her to drink milk and then go to bed without brushing her teeth.”

“Mmmm. You can keep it going for a little while longer though,” Angela says softly. “Even if Holly doesn’t really need it…it’s okay if you still do.”

I brush my hand through Holly’s dandelion fluff hair, my throat tight. _She always understands._ Holly, thirteen months old and in the ninety fifth percentile for height and weight, eats three square meals a day plus snacks and drinks milk out of a sippy cup like a big girl - she doesn’t need this bedtime bottle. But for me, with Holly…this is so much more than a bottle of formula. This quiet time of night, when it’s just Holly and I snuggled up together in the recliner with her milk, this has been when I learned to love her. This is when I smelled the irresistible baby scent of her hair and stroked her dimpled cheek while I memorised every line of her beautiful baby face. This is when I learned to see her mother in Holly’s blue eyes and love the warmth of remembering. This is when I’ve found Holly, and even if she doesn’t need this anymore…Angela’s not wrong that maybe I still do.

“Well, I guess I may as well use up the last of the formula cans in the pantry,” I say, my voice deliberately light. “Shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

Angela smiles and then yawns. “Sorry. I should get going, I’m really tired. Thanks for letting me stay and help with Christmas! I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

She stands up and then comes over to me, bending low to kiss Holly goodbye and unconsciously putting a hand on my knee to steady herself. Her hair swings forward and brushes against my face, and suddenly all I can smell is her and once again I’m fighting against the desire to reach out and touch her.

_Sweet fucking hell Emmett Cullen….what is going on with you?_


	47. Bedtime

“All right you two, settle down and get into bed.” I grab the nerf ball we’ve been tossing around and throw it through the hoop above the toybox. From downstairs I hear another defiant screech from Bram or Zeke as Angela struggles to put them to bed. We usually take it in turns, and it looks like I got the easy end of the deal tonight. “Enough now.”

Noah and Mac jump into bed as I cue up their favourite bedtime story podcast. From the corner of my eye I see Noah surreptitiously making sure his Banky is tucked under his pillow and I hide my smile. He’s starting to pretend he doesn’t need it, but I know every night when I check on them he’ll be asleep with it held up against his face like he always has been.

I don’t know why he’s embarrassed. It’s not like Mac doesn’t sleep with the same ratty old dog and dinosaur toys he’s had since babyhood, and next door Daisy has so many stuffed animals and dolls in the bed with her every night that it’s sometimes hard to find her in the crowd.

“Dad,” Noah says, looking at me over his quilt. “Do you think you’ll get married again?

_And I thought I got the easy end of the deal putting you two to bed!_

“I have no idea,” I say, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Feels unlikely. Why do you ask?”

“Because Riley who I sit next to says that you will.”

I only just manage to stop myself rolling my eyes. If there’s one person in the world whose opinions I’d quite happily never hear of again, it’s Riley-Who-I-Sit-Next-To. (As differentiated from Riley-Who-I-Play-Baseball-With and Riley-Who-Is-A-Girl and Riley-Who-Rides-My-Bus).

“He said that his mom is getting married again and his dad already got married again and his grandma got married again and so did his grandpa,” Noah says. “He has ten grandparents now! And he said that you’ll get married again too.”

I feel a bit dizzy at the idea of that much family. Sweet hell, how do you organise Thanksgiving and Christmas?

“That Riley doesn’t even know what he’s talking about.” Mac evidently shares my opinion on the boy in question. “That’s from divorce, not dying. That’s different. You _could_ get married again,” he says to me. “If you wanted to. But you don’t _have_ to…right?”

“Right,” I agree. “I don’t have to. Nobody has to get married if they don’t want to.”

Noah looks vaguely disappointed. “Riley who I sit next to says he’s going to Mexico at Christmas because his mom is getting married again and when you get married you can go on a good vacation for a honeymoon.”

I smother a laugh and settle back, leaning against the wall. Rather than finding this conversation as hurtful as I thought I might when Noah first raised the subject, all I’m feeling is amusement. “Even if I DID get married again, maybe I wouldn’t take you kids on a honeymoon? You might cramp my style.”

“You’re not allowed to leave us home alone. It’s the law,” Noah says primly, adding “But I don’t think I’d pick Mexico anyway. I don’t think I speak Spanish good enough yet. Maybe Australia like Daisy’s project so I could see kangaroos? I bet that would be good. And they speak English so I could understand.”

“Your mom and I went to Mexico for our honeymoon,” I say. “Tulum…it was really beautiful. I’d love to take you guys there one day. A lot people speak English there. Or else you might pick up some more Spanish pretty easily.” I half smile, remembering the three things I’d learned to say in Spanish – _another beer please, thank you,_ and _do not disturb,_ which I’d read on the door tag I hung on the door to our room every afternoon. 

“Don’t you want to get married again? Didn’t you like being married?” Mac looks at me intently.

“I liked being married a lot,” I say honestly. “But that’s because I was married to your mom and she was great. To get married again I’d have to find someone just as good, and that would be pretty tough.”

Noah frowns. “You could do it. You can’t just go and get a new wife though, you have to go out on dates first. So you just have to find someone to ask on a date…I don’t know about how you do that though. How did you find Mommy?”

“At high school,” I say. “And I would rightly be arrested if I attempted to ask a high school girl on a date these days. I believe that would make me a predator.”

“Yeah, you need someone old like you,” Mac says. “You could google how to find a date? That’s what Mrs Corday does every time she doesn’t know something. She says it doesn’t matter if you don’t know, as long as you know a way to find out.”

I chuckle. “Well, people DO find dates on the internet, but I might be too old and cranky for that.”

“You could ask someone at work?” Noah suggests. “You do tattoos on ladies, you could pick a nice one and ask her on a date.”

“And where should I take these imaginary women on dates?” I ask.

“Go-karts,” Mac says definitely, at the same time as Noah says, “Pizza and a movie.”

Now I really can’t hold back my laughter. “You guys have really thought about this, huh?” Still grinning, I look at them both. “Are you serious? Do you really want me to get married again?”

“Nah.” Mac tosses his dog in the air and catches it, tucking it back in beside him. “I don’t really care…you can if you want. But getting married means you have to get dressed up and kiss in front of everyone and that’s gross.”

“If you got married again, we’d have a new mom,” Noah says a little wistfully. “That could be good.”

 _Aww, my little dude…_ “I know you miss Mom. I do too. But I really don’t know that I’m ever going to get married again.”

“That’s okay.” Noah gives me a small smile. “It doesn’t matter. We have Grandma and Angie to be _kind of_ like a mom sometimes. And I guess we can just go to Mexico or Australia on a regular vacation instead of a honeymoon.”

I give him a hug. “That’s right. And you’ve got me, and I’ll just have to love you enough for a dad AND a mom.”

Noah hugs back and then I kiss him and Mac goodnight and make sure they’re tucked in and the bedtime story podcast is going before I head next door to Daisy. She’s in bed with a book, which she reluctantly closes on her bookmark when she sees me coming in.

“What are you reading?” I ask, shuffling her plush narwhal, a stuffed elephant and Rosalie’s old Cabbage Patch Kid aside so I can sit on the edge of her bed.

“Jill’s Gymkhana. Angela lent it to me, it was her mom’s.” Daisy shows me the cover. “It’s about a girl who gets a pony and learns to ride. We should get a pony too; it could live out in the field with Clementine.”

“Do you really think that between school and gymnastics you have enough time to look after a horse?” I ask.

Daisy grins. “I could do gymnastics _on_ the horse, like a circus rider.”

“I don’t think so,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I like you in one piece, thanks very much. And I’ve got more than enough to do without adding ponies to the mix.”

“Angela says she has a whole bunch of pony books she’ll lend to me,” Daisy says, snuggling further down under her quilt. She smiles at me a little shyly, her cheeks going faintly pink. “And thanks for the…you know. I’m glad you just left the package on my bed, because I didn’t want Mac and Noah to know that I got one!”

“Did they fit all right?” I ask, because Daisy’s bras had been delivered with the morning mail.

“They’re okay.” Daisy fiddles with the tassel on the end of her bookmark and gives me a quick, sideways glance. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked Angela about it…that I didn’t ask you first.” 

“I don’t mind at all,” I say. “Whatever makes you comfortable is fine with me. I know that some things you might rather talk about with another girl. Just so long as you know that you _can_ talk to me though…I promise I’ll try not to be embarrassing.”

Daisy giggles. “I know.”

“I bought some pads too, and put them in the bathroom cabinet,” I say, desperately hoping I sound casual here. “Just so they’re there, whenever…since you’re getting so grown up and all.”

“I don’t think I’m that grown up yet.” Daisy makes a face.

I brush her hair back from her face. “Well, it’ll happen one day and it’s better to be prepared. I don’t know…I feel like every time I turn around you guys are getting older.” I smile ruefully and kiss her forehead. “I love you Daisy bug.”

She wraps her skinny little arms around my neck and hugs me tight. “I love you too Daddy.”

___________________________________________________

“…happy birthday dear Bram and Zeke, happy birthday to you!”

As we finish singing I loosen my grip on the back of the twins’ sweaters so they can lean forward and blow out the candles. They get it first try, flames extinguished in a tiny puff of smoke.

“Yay!” Zeke flings his arms up in triumph. “All gone!”

“Again?” Bram looks up at me pleadingly. “Blow again?”

“There’s enough spit on these cakes as it is,” I say, reaching in between them and lifting the plates, carrying them over to the counter. “Let’s eat.” I cut big slices, since two cakes mean there’s plenty to go around, and Carlisle starts handing them out.

“You can compliment Daisy on the cakes,” Angela says. “She baked them pretty much single-handedly.”

“You did an excellent job, Daisy,” Carlisle says, and Daisy beams.

“Angie taught me,” she tells him.

Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Bella, Eliza and baby Rob are all here to celebrate the little twins’ second birthday, but despite the crowd in the kitchen it’s quiet for a moment as everyone concentrates on eating cake.

“I can’t believe they’re two,” Bella looks from Rob, who is sitting up on her lap and chewing on his own fist, over to Bram and Zeke and shakes her head. “It feels like only yesterday they were just this big.”

I laugh. “I know! I still remember looking at them under the microscope before the IVF transfer. They were still one embryo then, and a pretty dubious looking one at that apparently – they warned us the chances weren’t great, but it was our last shot so we went with it anyway. And look what we got!”

I grin affectionately at my two boys, remembering the joy of the positive test ten days later and the mingled wonder and excitement of seeing two heartbeats at our first ultrasound. I remember sitting there stunned, staring at the two fluttering little beans on the screen while Rosalie laughed until she cried. We hadn’t believed our crazy luck. Infertility, then Daisy basically just landing in our laps out of nowhere, two failed attempts at IVF and then twins on our third try, two more unsuccessful transfers, then our last shot turning into twins a second time. We’d thought nothing was going to top that, but then there had been Holly…I grin at the memories, but before they can make me sad I look at the messy, cake covered faces in front of me and think about what is good right here, right now. These children, this family gathered to celebrate…this is good.

“I think that’s Steve coming now.” Angela brushes the crumbs from her hands and stands up. “I can hear his truck.”

I stuff the last of my cake into my mouth and follow her out of the kitchen. Angela’s present to the boys were beds, her own twin brothers’ old beds that she’d refinished and two handmade quilts to go with them. She’d asked me about the gift and I’d been more than happy for her to go ahead with it, but I’m surprised by how beautiful the furniture is as I help her neighbour Steve unload it from his truck.

“You didn’t say they were this amazing!” I say to Angela, as Steve and I shuffle the second bedframe into the boys’ bedroom and find her rapidly making up the other. I grab the second mattress I’d purchased and lay it down over the slats, then run my hand over the carved headboard. “Are you sure your brothers aren’t going to want these for their own kids?”

“I asked, and they said no.” Angela smiles at me. “I’m glad you like them! Dad had them made by a friend who did wooden relief carvings for the church and things like that. I just refinished them.”

“Nanimals!” Bram says, scrambling up onto the freshly made bed and poking his fingers into the lines of the Noah’s ark carving that adorns the headboard. “Nanimals boat….nanimals bed mine!”

“That’s right,” Angela sits beside him, and together they point out all the animals, Bram saying the ones he can and making enthusiastic animal noises for all the ones he can’t.

Zeke comes in with everyone else, and I have to give up making the bed as all the kids jump on it. “I think they’re happy with their present,” I say to Angela with a grin. “And fingers crossed that being in separate beds and unable to kick each other awake at all hours of the night means they’ll sleep better!”

This seems like a farfetched dream a few hours later, when the twins refuse to even go to sleep in the first place! They’re completely enraptured by their new big boy beds, demonstrating this by jumping all over them, somersaulting across them, trying to climb up on the headboard and dive off, and leaping wildly from one to the other while I fruitlessly try and make them lie down.

“Stop!” I grab the back of Zeke’s pyjamas as he attempts to launch himself off the bed. “It’s bedtime…lie down!”

“This looks like it’s going well.” Angela appears in the doorway, smiling in exasperated amusement. “The big kids are all in bed.”

“Anya!” Bram stands on his head and beams at her from between his legs. “Bed time!”

“It’s going great,” I say through gritted teeth, pushing Bram’s diapered butt so he tips over onto his back, giggling.

“Why don’t you let me take over here while you give Holly her milk and put her to bed?” Angela suggests.

Completely fed up with the twins I leave them to Angela’s mercies and go and grab a bottle for Holly. As I feed her I can hear the continuing giggles and occasional happy shriek from the little twins’ bedroom. I relax as the baby in my arms drinks her milk, hearing the low murmur of Angela’s voice coming from the boys’ room. Holly is almost asleep by the time she finishes her bottle and barely stirs as I carry her into her room and lay her in her crib.

“Daddy!” Zeke pops up in bed like a jack-in-the-box as he sees me at the door.

“Lie down,” Angela says, gently pushing him down, even as Bram sits up in the other bed like some whack-a-mole game.

“Hi Daddy!”

“It’s bedtime,” I say firmly. I go in and sit on the floor beside Angela, the two of us shoulder to shoulder in the small space between the two beds. “You need to lie down.”

“Mine nanimals bed,” Bram says contentedly. He has Mow-Mow the ratty old stuffed cat in his arms, holding the tail clutched in his dimpled little fist. “Mine big boy bed.”

“Anya sing?” Zeke asks, hugging his new pair of light-up Paw Patrol sneakers. I’d been slightly concerned about which one of them would give up the stuffed cat if they weren’t in the same bed – Zeke’s glee with his new sneakers has apparently solved the problem.

“Okay…close your eyes.” Angela strokes Zeke’s curly head and starts singing quietly. I don’t recognise the song, it’s some church thing, but her voice is surprisingly low and strong. I sit quietly, rubbing slow circles on Bram’s back through the blankets and watching as his eyelids finally start to droop.

“Bram’s out,” I whisper, as the final notes of Angela’s song drifts away.

“Zeke’s asleep too,” she says softly, pulling the quilt straight over him.

“Happy birthday little buddy,” I murmur, kissing Bram’s sleeping face and then reaching across Angela to touch Zeke’s soft hair. I gently tug the shoe free, grinning as I see the pattern on the sole imprinted on his flushed pink cheek. “That can’t be comfortable. Although I remember my momma telling me once that I slept with a baseball bat when I was little…that’s might be worse than a shoe.”

Angela smiles and lines the sneakers up on the edge of the bed. “He’s so funny. I’m really glad that they like their new beds too – it seemed like a funny kind of gift, but I worked on the refinishing for ages and I’d rather see them being used and loved by my little twins than strangers.” Even in the dim room, lit only by the hallway light, I can see the dark flush of blood on her cheeks. “I mean… _your_ little twins.”

“They’re yours too,” I say into the abruptly charged silence. “In a different way, but…I don’t mind if you call them yours. You’ve earned that with the way you are with them…I see how much you love them, how much you give of yourself to all the kids, to this family…”

But somehow, suddenly I’m not thinking about the kids. I’m barely even thinking at all, because it’s just Angela and I, sitting so close together that we’re touching in the dim bedroom, and whatever it is between us sparks and flares and without saying any more I tilt my head forward and kiss her.


	48. Rosalie's Room

_Oh._

_Oh._

_Oh._

She tastes like strawberries. Her mouth is soft and warm and welcoming, and I close my eyes and curve my hands into her thick dark hair to bring her even closer, because this kissing…this feels like everything good in the world, right here with me.

It feels like coming home.

Angela kisses back, one hand on my chest, my heartbeat thudding against her palm. Her other hand drifting up to touch my jaw, fingertips light against my skin. The warmth, the pleasure, the _want_ …she breathes against my lips, the faintest noise of longing, and my entire body throbs.

There is nothing but the two of us. Nothing but her mouth on mine, her hair under my hands, the breathless, dizzying delights of kissing her at last. Nothing but the wild burgeoning feelings inside me, the certainty that this is good and right and inevitable, and that I never want it to stop.

But then one of the boys stirs, mumbling something in their sleep as they roll over, and Angela and I freeze.

“Emmett…” she whispers.

I shake my head, and for a moment I crush my mouth against hers. “No,” I say hoarsely. “Please…please…”

And I’m on my feet and pulling her with me, gripping her hand in mine, the other hand on her back as I kiss her and we stumble together out of the room. I pause in the living room, kissing her hard and thinking about the sofa, but that won’t work, the kids could come down the stairs at any moment… I move us towards my room and I think it’s all right, it’s all good… _please I want you…_ but Angela falters in the doorway, and I feel everything slipping away.

“Emmett…” There are tears in her eyes as she looks at me, and I shake my head because I don’t want to hear it, but she says it anyway. “We can’t.”

“Angela…I…you…” I don’t know what I’m saying, but I reach for her again and this time she steps away.

“I can’t. I’m so sorry…but this isn’t…look around Emmett, this is still Rosalie’s room.” Angela turns away, but not fast enough that I don’t see the tear as it glitters on her eyelashes and falls, sliding across her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” She almost runs as she rushes down the hall, away from me, snatching up her purse and keys from the sideboard as she passes by.

For a moment I stand frozen. _Please don’t go._ As the front door bangs shut I move after her, but instead of calling out when I reach the porch I just stop, leaning silently against the railings and watching her taillights as she drives away. I stand there for a long time, staring out into the darkness, before I turn and walk slowly back inside.

_This is still Rosalie’s room._

I stop in the doorway of my room, and for the first time in months I find myself actually looking at it. It’s a complete disaster, but under the mess…I realise that almost nothing has changed since Rosalie slept here. I’ve piled up my clothes on the chair, in a laundry basket in the corner, in the bassinet that Holly hasn’t slept in for six months, but the closet is still full of all of Rosalie’s clothes. The bathroom cabinets and drawers are crammed with her cosmetics and toiletries and hair things. Bottles of her brand of shampoo and conditioner, a tube of her face wash…even that is still on the shelf in the shower. The dresser has the framed photographs she chose and placed there on top, her jewellery and handmade ornaments the kids made and gave to her arranged with them. Her bedside table still holds her Kindle, a pile of paper books, her smart watch right where she laid it down when she went to sleep on the last night.

_Angela’s right…it’s still your room Rosa-girl._

I lie down on the bed, my head turned to the side so I can look at the framed photograph I’ve always kept beside it. It’s dusty and dull but it doesn’t matter, I know every detail of the picture behind the glass. Rosalie and I, a selfie we’d taken on our first Hawaii vacation. We were in bed, although the photo is framed close enough that you can’t tell that, and we both look so happy. She’d been about to leave for college, I was going to start my apprenticeship with Jonah…we had been so young and so hopeful and so happy, believing that our future would be everything that we were dreaming of. And maybe it hadn’t been _exactly_ what we might have hoped for…but it had been beautiful. For as long as it lasted, it had been beautiful.

_I loved you. With everything I had and everything I was, I loved you._

I reach out and pick up the photograph. Rosalie’s blue eyes smile out at me, her blonde hair falling in shining waves around her face and her skin gone golden from the sun. Next to her I’m smiling hard, my dimple deep in my tanned face, my eyes looking at Rosalie rather than the camera. I smile, thinking how young and innocent we were. How easy it had been to love her. How easy to open our hearts to each other, to approach our future boldly and carelessly and bravely.

_And it was worth it. Despite how it ended, despite what I have lived through in this past year after losing you, it was worth it for every single second of wonderful that I got to have before that. YOU were worth it._

Slowly I reach out and replace the photograph on the nightstand, staring at it until my eyes blur.

_But if I don’t learn to let you go and move on, I’ll only ever be living half a life and I don’t want that. I wouldn’t want it for you, and I don’t believe you’d want it for me either. You’re gone, but I’m still here and it’s okay for me to want more than this. Nothing will ever change how I loved you, but I can’t live my life for a memory._

______________________________________________

Sitting on the porch sofa with my sketchbook, I look up as Holly wails in frustration. She’s been quite happy cruising along the railings, watching Bram and Zeke on the trampoline, but now she’s standing at the gate with her arms stretching through the gaps as she reaches desperately for Clementine.

“Doh-kee,” she says to me, grabbing the gate and rattling it furiously as Clementine unconcernedly scratches her back against the bottom of the stair railing. “Doh-kee!”

“Seriously?” I raise my eyebrows. “Your first word is going to be _donkey_?”

Grinning, I put aside my sketchbook and open the gate, lifting Holly down the stairs and holding her on my knee as she buries her face ecstatically in Clementine’s neck and kisses her. “Doh-kee!” she says to me again, reaching up to touch Clementine’s spikey mane. “Cem.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Am I hearing this right? Your first word is donkey, and you’re trying to follow that up with _Clementine?_ You ever considered the word _Daddy?_ How about it, Jellybean, how about _Daddy?”_

Still running her fingers through Clementine’s soft fur, Holly dimples at me. “Doh-kee.”

I laugh and kiss her head, reaching out to scratch Clementine’s long ears. “Yeah well, you all know Daddy’s a fool for his little donkey…I don’t blame you one bit for her being your favourite. And just between you and me, I’m a bit of a fool for my Holly-bean too.”

I hold Holly with one hand and absentmindedly rub Clementine’s chest with the other, listening impatiently for the sound of a car on the drive. Angela should be arriving soon, and I’m anxious to talk to her. I hate that she ran last night without talking about what happened.

_Because kissing you meant something. Something real. I want you to know that, I want you to know that it was more than a kiss, because the truth is, somehow I’m falling for you. And I know that this situation is complicated, but if you feel even a tiny bit of what I’m feeling…_

My heart lurches when I hear the kitchen door opening behind me, but then the smile freezes on my face when I turn and see Esme instead of Angela coming out onto the porch.

“What are you doing here?” I say, too rattled to worry about how rude I sound.

“Angela called me and said she wasn’t well and asked if I’d be able to take over today.” Esme eyes me curiously. “She didn’t call you?”

“I’ve been outside for a while…I must have left my phone inside and missed her call,” I mutter, my stomach twisting uneasily. I haven’t stepped off the porch; I know I would have heard the phone if it rang.

I realise Esme is saying something and I try to focus. “What?”

“I asked how the boys went sleeping in their new beds last night,” Esme says, sitting on the step beside me and taking Holly onto her lap. “Hello my darling, come give Grandma a hug.”

“Okay; they took ages to go to sleep and were up at first light this morning, but at least they slept through.”

_After I got them to go to sleep and kissed Angela on the floor in their room and made her cry…oh fuck. I have to talk to her._

“Hopefully they’ll settle down for a nap after lunch without too much difficulty,” Esme says, holding Holly so that she can keep patting Clementine. “Do you have much on at work today?”

“Just the one client.” I glance at my watch, cursing inwardly as I realise I don’t have enough time to go and see Angela before work. It’ll have to wait. “I should head off.”

“Are you all right?” Esme frowns slightly, looking up at me as I rise to my feet. “You seem a little…”

“I’m fine,” I interrupt, stooping down and kissing first Holly and then Esme. “I appreciate you coming over. Meal plan has tacos for dinner, stuff’s all in the fridge, but I’ll try and get home early to help you with that.” I shout goodbye to Bram and Zeke, who are now body slamming each other so that they rebound off the safety net, and drive to the shop with my mind racing.

I’m lucky that work is an easy one, a colouring and shading session on a previously outlined back piece. The client is a headphones-and-stoic-endurance type, and while at first I’m glad I don’t have to try and get my head together enough to make conversation, as the hours drag by it starts feeling oppressive. All I can think of Angela, and what happened between us last night and what it might mean going forward. The feeling I had when I kissed her, of something strong and tender and beautiful growing between us, is fading fast. Have I completely misread everything and fucked everything up? I don’t have any answers, and all I want to do is get to her and see what she’s thinking. I’ve never been so relieved to have a client tap out early as I am when this one pulls off the headphones and says he’s done.

But when I’m finally face to face with Angela, standing on her porch as she opens the door to my knock, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where to start. I simply stand in front of her, shoulders hunched, looking at her helplessly.

“You’d better come in,” Angela turns, and I follow her down the hallway and into the kitchen at the back of the house.

“You’re packing?” I ask, looking at the open cardboard moving box and the stacks of dinnerware on the table.

Angela shrugs, leaning back against the sink. “I’ve started sorting things out. Mom’s getting worse – she’s never coming home again, and at some point I’m going to have to sell the house to pay the nursing home fees. She and my dad never threw anything away, so it’s going to take me forever to go through it all…but you didn’t come here to talk about that.”

I take an uneasy seat at the table. “You didn’t come to work.”

“No. I’m sorry about that, I hope you don’t mind too much.” Angela hesitates. “I wasn’t feeling that great, but I should have called you, not just left it to Esme.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to leave us,” I blurt out. I suddenly feel sick. Kissing Angela had felt so good, so right, so exactly what I wanted and needed…but this isn’t just about me and I’m terrified that I’ve ruined things for everyone. “I’m sorry I…I’m sorry about last night.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Angela turns away. “It was as much my fault as yours.”

I bite my knuckles. How did this become about _fault_?

“I’m sorry I upset you,” I say at last. “I didn’t mean to. I would never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, I hope you know that. So I’m sorry that I’ve made everything so awkward. Please, please don’t let this be the end of everything.”

_Please let it be the start of something._

I crush the thought before it can take hold.

“I’m not going to quit my job,” Angela says. “I care about you and the kids a lot. Maybe too much, I sometimes think, but I’m not going to leave you all.”

I exhale. “Thank you.”

“And Emmett, about last night…you didn’t do anything that I didn’t want.” Angela’s face is flaming. “I wouldn’t want you to think that you did. But it can’t happen again. You know that.”

I feel a dull feeling of heaviness settle over me, as a hope I have barely begun to even put words to dissipates like smoke. “Yeah.”

“It’s just not a good idea,” she says quietly. “You and the kids are like my family now; I want the best for everyone, and I won’t do anything to jeopardise that. You and I doing…anything…it just can’t happen.”

Of course she’s right. Angela doesn’t need me, not with my broken heart and baggage and the shadow of my dead wife always at my shoulder. She should have someone who can love her freely and give her the babies of her own that she wants and make a life together. What I feel for her is real, I know that now, but it doesn’t come without the heavy burden of my grief and she deserves so much more than that. 

There are my kids to think about as well…they have lost so much already. I can’t do anything that might mean they’d lose Angela too. Even if kissing her last night made me feel like the sun had risen, I know that the two of us together is not simple. The chances of it ending in disaster are too high, and there are too many people who stand to lose if it goes bad. 

And if my heart is hurting all over again…it’s not as though I haven’t learned to live with it.

“You’re right.” I force my hands away from my mouth and try to smile. “What we’ve got works…I don’t want to change that. I don’t want the kids to lose you. I’ll forget about last night if you will.”

Angela smiles too, but it’s a dimmer version of her usual happy grin. “I think that’s best. I’m sorry I called off work today, but I didn’t sleep well last night and I had a headache. I’ll be back tomorrow, like usual.”

“See how you’re feeling. Esme doesn’t mind helping out and I can reschedule work if it comes to that.” I fidget miserably. “I guess I should get back and help Esme with dinner.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Angela walks me to the front door, and I say a reluctant goodbye and head home.

Esme has everything well under control when I get home. Bram and Zeke are running around and shooting each other with Nerf guns, Holly is lying under the Christmas tree babbling to her doll and gazing up at the twinkling lights, Daisy is sitting up at the kitchen table with her homework, Noah is at one end of the sofa reading, and Esme is sitting at the other end with a scowling Mac tucked under her arm and his school reading book open on her lap.

“Hey.” I do the rounds of hugs and kisses with all the kids, and then drop into the recliner. Holly tosses aside her doll and crawls over to me, using my pants to pull herself up to her feet. “How did it go today?”

Esme kisses Mac on his forehead and closes the book. “That’s enough now, well done.” She signs his reading log and smiles at me as Mac gleefully runs upstairs to put his things away. “Things went fine. Everyone ate and napped, and I washed all the towels. Zeke fell off the balance bike on the driveway this afternoon and scraped his elbow, but nothing a cold wash cloth and some kisses couldn’t fix. How was work?”

“Not too interesting, just shading and colouring on a back piece. Still another session in it, so didn’t even finish anything.” I lift Holly up onto my lap, making faces at her to make her giggle and then say slowly, “I’ve been thinking…maybe one weekend you could come over and help me sort out my room?”

I see the flash of surprise across Esme’s face, but she smiles at me and says easily, “Of course, I’d love to help.” She hesitates for a moment. “Do you mean Rosalie’s things?”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah. I think I should go through it all, maybe keep some things and pack them away for the kids later on, maybe donate the rest…I think it’s time.”


	49. Airplanes and a Gift

“Airplane fly!” Bram shrieks, pointing at the plane taking off outside the airport window.

“Fly in sky!” Zeke runs in a headlong circle around the row of chairs I’m sitting in and then plasters himself back against the window, waiting for the next one. Despite it being three days before Christmas the airport is fairly quiet at this time of morning, and I’m glad there’s no one near enough to be bothered by the boys’ noisy enthusiasm.

I grin at them and glance across at Holly, cruising along the opposite row of chairs. She comes to the end and holds her hand out to me, wailing plaintively until I get up and take her hand with a grimace as my back twinges.

“You know this is ridiculous right? You can walk alone – you were barely touching the chairs! Come on Holly-bean, just drop Daddy’s hand and head off on your own…”

My phone pings with a message, and I scoop it out of my pocket with my free hand. _Just came through the gate – where are you?_ I sit back down as Holly cruises off along the new row of chairs and text Alice our position. A few minutes later I see her coming with Jasper, and I walk over to meet her, wrapping her in a bear hug. “Hey Monkey-face.”

“It’s so great to see you!” Alice hugs me tightly. “Are you all ready for Christmas? I’m so excited to be here! And there’s the little twins and Holly and…why didn’t you tell me she could walk?”

“What?” I nearly drop Alice as I spin around to see Holly casually strolling across the twelve feet from the chairs to where we’re standing, like she’s been doing it all her life. “I didn’t tell you because she’s never done it before! And thank god she’s started walking without holding my hand,” I add fervently. “My _back_ , I’m telling you…Jellybean, you’re a superstar baby!”

Alice giggles and drops to her knees to hug Holly. Bram and Zeke realise Alice and Jasper have arrived and come running over for hugs and kisses too, and I give Jasper a quick hug before he’s inundated by rowdy toddlers yelling happily about airplanes.

We head down towards baggage claim together, the trip taking forever as now that she’s decided to walk Holly wants to just keep doing it. It’s hilarious to watch her seriously stagger along behind me, occasionally getting so excited by her own new skills that she starts flapping her arms in elation and throwing herself so off balance that she falls. Almost everyone who passes her smiles at her. It takes us so long to get down to baggage that Alice’s red suitcase and Jasper’s kitbag are the only pieces of luggage left on the carousel. At least Holly’s tired enough by this point that she lets Jasper carry her out to the car, and Bram and Zeke are thrilled at riding on the luggage cart which makes getting them through the parking lot slightly less hazardous. Even so, I’m relieved when I’m paying at the exit and we’re on our way home with the kids all safely restrained in carseats.

“Are you all ready for Santa?” Alice asks from the middle seat of the van as we drive.

“Santa!” Bram hollers from his car seat, and Zeke lets go with a “Ho ho ho,” in such a deep voice that I nearly drive off the road with laughing so much.

“All good to go…as you can see, those two are really into the whole idea this year! There’s this idiotic cartoon that they watch every day, and they’ve been making Angela or I read them Christmas stories every night.”

“Oh, it’s so much fun! And how’s Angela? She’s coming to Christmas lunch at Edward and Bella’s house, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’ll be there for lunch, she’s bringing apple pie.”

I hope Alice doesn’t pick up anything from my voice. Angela has been at work as usual since we talked, but for all we’re both putting on our best effort the past few days have been awkward. There’s a slight wariness, a thread of unease, that has come between us and for the first time since she started working for me there’s a hint of tension in our comfortable relationship. I don’t like it. 

“Mom told me she’s sorting out your room tomorrow, so I’m going to come and help,” Alice announces. She catches my eye in the rear-view mirror and smiles sympathetically. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“I thought it was probably about time,” I shrug.

“I think so too. Mom and I have talked it all over, and we’re going to put some special things aside for the kids, like her wedding dress and jewellery and…well, whatever else, I don’t know, you might have to help with that. Tell us anything that’s sentimental or meaningful. Most of the rest of the stuff Mom thought could go the women’s shelter, the ladies often arrive with nothing and Rosalie’s clothes will be welcomed. Especially her professional wardrobe and maternity things, they always need those. Mom said that while we’re doing it we might as well sort out all the baby stuff you’ve got lying around and donate that too. She said you’ve still got Holly’s old bassinet in your room? Really?”

“It holds all my clothes,” I say with a sigh. “Although I guess once you’ve sorted things out I can go back to using the closet.” I give a wry smile. I’m ready to clean out my room, ready to move on fresh…but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to hurt. “And you can have anything you want, Esme too.”

“Oh my gosh, I just _wish_ I could have some of Rosalie’s clothes,” Alice sighs dramatically. “It’s a curse that I’m not the same size as she was, and not even near enough to fix anything up! The _shoes_ ….” She pretends to cry for a moment, before she says briskly, “However purses don’t have a size and Rosalie does have an awfully nice Prada bag that I’ve always been green with envy over, so I’ll still do all right! Honestly, it’s about time you did this. Mom and I are going to go through _everything_ too, so you’d better go through your drawers first and get rid of your hidden pot stash and all your kinky sex toys…”

“Not in front of the kids! And I think this is saying a lot more about what I’d find in your drawers than in mine…” I side eye Jasper, sitting beside me in the front seat, and he laughs and looks away, his cheeks going slightly red. But I suddenly remember a few things hidden in the bottom of the nightstand and feel my face going the same colour as Jasper’s. “But uh…give me five minutes before you start, okay?”

I drop Jasper and Alice at Carlisle and Esme’s house, and then head for home with the three little ones. Angela has already arrived when I pull up, so I park next to her car and let Bram and Zeke run ahead while I carefully carry a sleeping Holly inside and lay her in her crib.

“Did you have fun at the airport?” Angela is folding laundry at the kitchen table, but stops what she’s doing and crouches down to give Bram and Zeke hugs. “Did you see some airplanes?”

“Airplanes fly!” Bram says. “Up, up, up…”

“Zoom!” Zeke holds his arms out and zooms around the kitchen. “Airplane zoom….aaargh!” Not paying any attention to what he’s doing he runs headfirst into the table, immediately bursting into hysterical screeching sobs.

“Oh sweetheart…oops.” Angela, already wrapping Zeke into a hug, starts groping through the laundry basket with one hand before she throws a washcloth at me. “Emmett, can you run that under the tap, he’s cut his head open.”

“Oh shit.” I wet the washcloth and crouch beside Angela, wincing when I see the amount of blood smeared over Zeke’s face and already soaking into Angela’s sweater. I press the cloth against his forehead. “Oh buddy, you’re okay…”

“I don’t know that he is,” Angela peeks under the washcloth a moment later and grimaces, immediately pressing it back against his head. “That’s pouring blood – he’s split his eyebrow in half.”

Zeke is screaming and Bram starts howling in sympathy, trying to climb up into Angela’s arms with his brother. From the other room I hear a bad-tempered wail as Holly is woken by the noise. I grab an icepack from the freezer and wrap it in a clean dish towel from the laundry, handing it to Angela. “Here try that…Z, come on buddy, shhh, you’re all right…I’ll just get Holly.”

I grab the baby and bring her into the kitchen, handing her a sippy cup and immediately kneeling back beside Angela. “How’s it looking now?”

“Like a hospital trip I think.” Angela peels back the dishcloth and I catch a momentary glimpse of the gaping wound bisecting Zeke’s eyebrow and heading up into his forehead before it fills with blood again. “I’m so sorry, I should have caught him but I didn’t think he’d just run straight into the table!”

“It’s not your fault; he’s a maniac.” I take a second look. “But I think you’re right that we’re going to have to take him to the ER – damn it, do I have to spend my whole fucking _life_ in there while my family bleeds around me?” I’m horrified to hear my voice crack.

“It’s all right.” There’s a tiny hesitation, and then Angela lays an arm across my back and leans her head against my shoulder. “Zeke’s going to be fine, they’ll stitch or glue him back together and, well….hey, either way it’ll probably scar, so after this there’ll be an easy way to tell him and Bram apart.”

I laugh, wrapping my arms around Angela and the two boys, briefly resting my head against hers. _You always make me feel better._ Before anything can be misconstrued, I straighten up. “Well, I guess you can’t say that wouldn’t be handy for strangers. I’ll get the first aid kit, we’re going to have to stick a dressing on that or else he’ll bleed all over the car.”

I run down to the basement and grab the crate of medical supplies, and between us Angela and I manage to get an absorbent dressing bandaged onto Zeke’s head, even if this is done by bribing him with Superman bandaids on every finger. “Okay, hopefully that’ll hold.”

“Can I borrow a t-shirt before you go?” Angela says a little awkwardly, pulling her blood-spattered sweater away from her body. “My spare clothes are in the wash after finger painting yesterday.”

“Sure.” I leave her with Zeke and go into my room, pausing with a hand on one of my shirts. It’ll be like a dress on her. Stupid, when Rosalie’s stuff is all about to be given away…I go to the closet.

“Are you sure?” Angela takes the pink t-shirt hesitantly. “I don’t mind something of yours.”

I shake my head. “That’ll fit better. And you can keep it…I’m getting rid of everything of Rosalie’s anyway. Esme and Alice are going to help me go through it tomorrow.”

“Really?” Angela flushes scarlet. “It’s not because of what I said the other night is it? I didn’t mean to make you feel like…”

“It’s not because of that. At least…not fully.” I take a deep breath. “I never meant to keep it all as a shrine, I just never really noticed that’s what I was doing, you know? But I’m ready to let it go…it’s time. So keep that t-shirt, take anything else you want…what size shoes do you wear?”

Angela laughs a little, and somehow everything between us feels easy again. “That’s fine, donate Rosalie’s things to a worthier cause than me. Here’s the diaper bag, and you’ll have to call Jonah from the car and tell him you’re not going to make it to work.”

“Thanks.” I reach out and take Zeke from her arms, “Come on kiddo, let’s go rack up some more frequent flier points at the hospital and see if we can’t get Grandpa to fix your owie.”

______________________________________________

“I think we should start with the closet,” Esme says, surveying my room thoughtfully. “Once that’s clear we’ll have somewhere to put all your clothes, and then we can see what we’re dealing with in your bedroom. Does that sound okay, Emmett?”

I nod. “Sure.” 

“All right. And there’s nothing…personal…that you’ve got hidden away and would rather we didn’t see?” She flicks a quick glance towards Daisy, who is perched on the bed beside me.

I laugh. “Alice already told me to take care of that…you’re good.”

Esme giggles. “I just wanted to check! Now, you’re happy with the clothes going to Marigold House?” She waits for me to nod and then unfolds a giant tote bag. “Good. This bag will be for donation, the trash bag is for anything that just needs to go out, and we’ll put aside anything that you want to keep.” She looks at Daisy. “Anything you want sweetie, you just say so. You can have it now, or we can store it away in the basement for when you’re older.”

“You take anything you want too,” I say. “Alice already called dibs on a purse or something…”

“The Prada!” Alice darts into the closet and comes out clutching a bag with a look of bliss on her face. “And the others…I mean, if Mom doesn’t want them…” She gives Esme a beseeching look.

“Well, I had thought perhaps the Birkin…” Esme looks a little bashful. “Unless you’d rather keep it for the girls, Emmett? It’s a classic, and it’s worth a fortune.”

“No, please just take it and use it.” I head into the closet and gaze at Rosalie’s row of purses. “I don’t even know which one it is…is it the brown one? Or the other brown one? Or the _other_ other brown one?” I grab an armful and toss them onto the bed. “You figure it out.”

Esme and Alice sort purses, and Daisy hesitantly reaches out and picks up a little beaded bag. “Can I have this?”

“You can have anything you want,” I remind her, tweaking her ponytail as I go back to the closet for the rest of the bags. “I don’t know that you’re ever going to be tall enough to wear Mom’s clothes, but I don’t care if you want to keep them and see. There’s plenty of room in the basement.” I grin at Daisy. She takes after Alice and will be lucky if she cracks five feet, as opposed to Rosalie’s five nine. “But as Alice informed me, purses don’t have a size.”

For a moment I gaze into the closet, seeing all of Rosalie’s things there for the last time. So much of her life reflected in racks and shelves and piles of clothes! The memories flip through my head like a movie reel, Rosalie in maternity clothes and lab coats, ski gear and swimwear, active wear and formal dresses, blue jeans and t-shirts, leggings and cosy sweaters and lingerie…but memories are all they are. She’s gone, and it’s time to let go.

Packing some things away is easy; I’m not that emotionally attached to her pile of yoga pants, or the astonishing number of plain white t-shirts and blue jeans that are hanging on the racks. Some things are harder; I shovel the piles of lingerie into a bag without looking at any of it, and the maternity clothes I have to leave to Esme.

And then, there are the things I can’t let go. A chunky sweater that reminds me of winter afternoons by the fire at home when we didn’t need anything but each other. A sundress with flowers on it that makes me think of beaches in Mexico and love in the sunshine. Her old cheerleader uniform. The skeleton t-shirt she wore to the hospital the day Holly was born, the day I lost her. Her wedding dress. All these are folded carefully and put in a box to keep forever.

Once the closet is clear of Rosalie’s things, Esme makes short work of getting all my clothes folded and stacked and hung back in there, and then moves into the bathroom. That’s quick, throwing out all the open make up and toiletries, giving Daisy all the hair things, donating anything unopened. Then we move on to the bedroom. The books get returned to the bookcase in the spare room, the science journals tossed into the recycling. I plug her Kindle in to charge, factory reset it, and tell Noah he can have it. Esme eventually accepts Rosalie’s smart watch. Daisy takes Rosalie’s childhood charm bracelet, while the rest of the jewellery is packed away for the kids to have when they’re older. I read through the cards and letters that Rosalie has chosen to keep tucked away in her bedside drawer, and lay them carefully in a box to store away. The funny little gifts the kids have made, clay handprints and macaroni necklaces and popsicle stick photo frames, are all wrapped and boxed up as carefully as if they’re priceless museum artifacts. In a way they are.

A lot of it makes me laugh. Just as much of it makes me cry. But it’s that kind of day, and I’m not the only one laughing and joking and then in the next breath grabbing for a handful of tissues. The wedding dress brings Esme to tears. Alice cries over the shoes, although how much of that is missing Rosalie and how much is because none of them fit her I’m not exactly sure. Daisy copes well until we come across fifty-three friendship bracelets– every single one that she ever made for Rosalie, apart from the final one she wore in her casket - kept in a velvet jewellery case like they’re something precious. She cries then, and I wrap her up in my arms and tell her all over again how much her mom loved her.

I laugh when I find a page torn from a Camden school planner that has Rosalie’s physics, chemistry and English homework written neatly on it and then _I love you, Rosalie Lilian Hale_ scrawled across the entire page in my horrible teenage handwriting, surrounded by hearts. I sigh when I come across the photography portfolio of Rosalie’s nudes. Most of them were taken by her mother, they were always about art not porn, and they show Rosalie bare and strong and unafraid, uncompromisingly herself, and beautiful enough to break my heart all over again.

But it’s the unexpected that gets to me the most. The pregnancy test from Holly. Alice picks it up, then shrieks when she realises she’s holding something Rosalie peed on and flings at me. I’m laughing at her disgust and about to toss it when I flip it over and see Rosalie’s handwriting on the back of the plastic stick. A date that must be the day she took it, and beside it our daughter’s name. _Holly Esme._

It’s like the breath has been knocked out of my body. Rosalie and I chose our babies’ names before they were born, but she had always had a weird superstition and refused to tell anyone else or even write it down until they were here. The first time she wrote their names was always in the hospital after they were born, filling in the hospital paperwork to make it official.

Except for Holly. For whatever reason, Rosalie wrote her name in Sharpie on the back of a pregnancy test before she was ever born, and holding it in my hands now feels like she’s given me a gift. My daughter’s name written in her mother’s handwriting. The loops of the Ls, the small flourish on the Y, the curve of the E… _oh Rosa-girl, thank you for this, thank you..._ I know I’ve just found my next tattoo.

The room is almost unrecognisable when we’re done. No more messy heaps of clothes, no more baby things, no more looking like I’m still waiting for Rosalie to walk back in at any moment. And even as the tears sting my eyes, my heart feels lighter as I look at it. Rosalie would never have wanted me living only a half a life without her. I will carry her and what she meant to me in my heart forever, but I’m ready to move on.


	50. Not Less, Just Different

“Happy Christmas!” Eliza flings the front door open before we can even ring the bell. She’s wearing a dress so covered in sequins and glitter and sparkles that she looks like she’s ready to participate in a pageant. “Come in…Mommy said we can eat the gingerbread house when you get here!”

Daisy hands Eliza her gift and she tears the paper off right there in the doorway, her mouth falling open when she sees the garish kids cosmetics set I bought her. “Make up all for my own?” she breathes, before she turns and races up the hallway towards the living room. “Daddy, look!”

The music stops as the kids and I follow her in, and I realise it was Edward playing the piano. He’s now turned to the side on the piano bench as Eliza shows off her make up kit, and seeing me he raises an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

I have to laugh. “I know, sorry…but I didn’t see anything else I thought she’d like more.”

Edward shakes his head and then cracks a grin. “Well, I now feel a little bit less guilty for the musical instruments I bought for _your_ kids. I hope you enjoy every single noisy minute of it!”

It only takes thirty seconds of Bram on a harmonica, Zeke on a drum and Holly bashing away at a xylophone for me to regret every single glittery, sparkly item of makeup I put into Eliza’s hands. “Okay, I’m sorry…I promise it’ll be books next year!”

Edward laughs too, but I’m pretty sure his musical ear is suffering even more than I am as the kids continue the discordant racket around us.

I head into the kitchen with the wine, beer and soda that were my contribution to today’s feast. I fit as much into the fridge as I can and leave everything else in the cool bag before I ask Bella if there’s anything I can do to help.

“You could give one of those beers to my dad,” Bella says, distractedly flipping through a recipe book. “And talk to him or something…he keeps coming in here and trying to tell me things about sports, but my mom called last night and said she was flying in to spend Christmas with us and by the way she’s vegan now so…I have to find a vegan recipe that I have the ingredients for and cook it when my oven is already full of ham and chickens! I don’t have time to try and talk about sports!”

This is pretty typical for Bella’s flaky mom, and I laugh and open the red wine to let it breathe before I take a couple of beers and head into the living room. “Hey Chief Swan, thought you could do with one of these.”

“Oh thanks.” Charlie, Bella’s dad and the local police chief, is sitting with baby Rob on his lap and watching a basketball game. “Good game this one…been telling this little guy about it all.”

“Indoctrinate him early?” I laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Charlie grins. “Yeah, I figure with Bella as his mom and Edward as his dad he’s more likely to be into books and music, but you can’t blame a guy for trying…be nice to have a grandkid to take to games. Although you wouldn’t think it, but little princess over there loves her fishing so you really never know!” He gazes fondly over at Eliza, who has smeared her face with sparkly purple eyeshadow and glitter, and is rapturously watching as Daisy paint her fingernails.

I drink my beer, talking casually with Charlie as I keep an eye on the kids. Holly toddles over dragging her new alligator shaped xylophone behind her, and then puts it on my lap to play it.

“She’s getting bigger,” Charlie says with faint surprise. “Looking more like her mother all the time…you doing okay with all that?”

I can see the faint blush of embarrassment on his face, but I appreciate his attempt to at least acknowledge Rosalie. “Yeah, I am thanks,” I say. “I mean special occasions are always a bit hard, so…but it’s all right.”

And it is. Putting out the Santa presents alone last night had made my heart ache, and there were a few rough moments over the morning as I watched the kids tear joyously into their gifts with no other adult to share it with, but this second Christmas without Rosalie feels infinitely more bearable than last year. I miss her, but it’s become a more quiet sorrow that doesn’t stop me from feeling the good of the day.

Carlisle, Esme, Alice and Jasper come in next, and there are more hugs and kisses and gifts for everyone, and then Jasper joins us in watching the game while Esme and Carlisle carry casserole dishes and Tupperware into the kitchen to help Bella. Edward plays some Christmas carols on the piano and Alice leads the kids in a chorus that’s more enthusiastic than harmonious.

I don’t realise that I’ve been subconsciously waiting for Angela until she walks in and I feel the way my heart lightens. She’s taking two weeks off over Christmas and New Year and I haven’t seen her since last Friday – the four days is the longest time we’ve gone without talking since she started working for me. She’s wearing a dress and her hair is loose and shiny, and as she smiles hello at everyone I think how pretty she looks. “Merry Christmas everyone!”

She hands a covered pie dish to Bella and then kneels down for hugs and kisses with all the kids, who compete to tell her everything they got for Christmas and everything that’s happened in their little worlds since they saw her last. I don’t think I’m the only one who misses her. Angela listens to everything and then hands out gifts to all the kids before she comes over to where I’m sitting. On my lap Holly waves her arms and beams at her. “Anya!”

I laugh. “I think that’s your name now.”

“I don’t mind,” Angela says lightly. “Bram and Zeke still say it that way, and she hears them calling to me all day so I guess she just picked it up.” She hands Holly a wrapped package and then a little shyly offers me one too. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you…we have things for you too.” I call out to Daisy to grab Angela’s gifts from under the tree, and open what she gave me. It’s a knitted hat, and I’ve been wearing Esme’s knits long enough to know that it’s handmade. “Hey, this is great! You made it, yeah?” I pull it down over my head and grin at her. “Suit me?”

“It looks good.” Angela blushes faintly, and then reaches out to help Holly put her own new hat, a blue and green striped stocking cap that makes her look like an elf, on her head. “I knitted for everyone.”

“I love mine!” Daisy comes over, her hands full of gifts, grinning from underneath her pink hat complete with cat face and ears. “Thank you!”

“Mine new hands!” Bram climbs onto Angela’s lap, ecstatically waving a hand at me that’s encased in a yellow mitten with a lion’s face on it. “Lion hands….raaawwwwwrrrrr! Anya help?” As soon as Angela has the second mitten on his other hand he takes off, waving his mittened hands at everyone and roaring. “Mine lion hands!”

“I think those are a winner,” I say, watching Jasper cover Zeke’s hands in a red version of the lion mittens so he can run around roaring with his brother.

“I thought they’d like them.” Angela takes the gifts from Daisy and gives her a hug. “Thank you!”

I’d taken the kids shopping and let them each choose their own gift for Angela, so they’re all excited to see her open them. Daisy gives her a t-shirt with a Harry Potter cat on the front of it; Noah’s choice a fancy notebook “for your journal”. Mac’s gift is a pendant on a twisted gold chain, glittering with fake jewels. Zeke gives her a squeaky rubber chicken dog toy and Bram gives her a pair of novelty glasses with eyeballs on springs. Angela thanks all the children effusively, doing an admirable job of neither laughing nor wincing at some of the more questionable gift choices, and then puts the glasses on to amuse them all.

“Thank you too Emmett,” she says, turning to look at me with the springy eyeballs bouncing up and down from the plastic frames. “That must have been a fun shopping trip…”

The glasses are so ridiculous I just break up laughing. On my lap Holly takes one look at them and bursts into terrified sobs, which only makes me laugh harder, even as I try and comfort her.

“Oh Holly!” Angela whips them off and holds out her arms. “I’m sorry, it’s still just me!” She lifts Holly up and hugs her.

Still chuckling, I reach for the envelope that was at the bottom of the pile of gifts. “This is from me and Holly…I tried to let her pick you something, but all you were going to end up with was a pacifier so I thought this might be better.” It’s a gift card to a local knitting store that Esme had assured me has the best selection, and Angela’s eyes light up when she sees it.

“Thank you, this is perfect!” She kisses Holly and then hands her back to me. “I’m going to go and see if Bella needs some more help in the kitchen.”

Renee, Bella’s mom arrives next with her husband Phil and, unexpectedly, Phil’s sister and her two teenage kids. I think Bella’s head might explode when she sees three extra guests. But she smiles as best she can and offers around drinks and snacks while sending Edward on a hunt for more chairs. He does his best, but when I take a seat at the table on the step stool Eliza uses to reach the sink when she cleans her teeth and my chin barely clears the table, I wish he’d tried a bit harder. Even so, I think I’m probably feeling happier about it than the thirteen year old dressed entirely in black who is forced to sit on a plastic mushroom at the picnic table the kids are eating on.

Dinner is great and even though I’m up and down about a hundred times to help the kids I do it full justice. As usual at family events I volunteer to do the dishes, to make up for never cooking anything. Jasper, Alice and Charlie join me in cleaning up the kitchen and Bella tries to help, but I push another glass of wine on her and tell her to go and take a break.

“Yes, but then my mom is going to try and do a reiki healing on me, or read me the tarot or something,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “I’m really hoping this phase is going to be a short one for her!”

Once the dishes are done and the kitchen clean, I borrow one of Bella’s baby wraps and tuck an exhausted Holly in against my chest. I give her a pacifier and tug on the new stocking cap to keep her warm, and without really thinking about it I head outside to where Angela is sitting on the patio steps watching Bram, Zeke and Mac kick a ball around.

“Hey,” I say, standing beside her and swaying from foot to foot as I rub Holly’s back to put her to sleep. “You don’t have to stay out here watching the kids, you’re not working today.”

Angela smiles. “I don’t mind, I felt like some fresh air anyway.”

“We’ve missed you the past couple of days,” I say lightly. “And not just because I have to do everything by myself either! It’s not the same without you.”

“Aww, thank you!” Angela blushes a little. “I miss you guys too actually; I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to go two whole weeks without seeing you all!”

“Well you’re welcome to visit anytime,” I say. “Although I do want you to enjoy your time off, even if you’re not going to spend it on a tropical beach reading in a hammock…what are your plans?”

“I’ll probably be with my mom a lot, but apart from that just keep working on packing up the house,” Angela says with a sigh. “The sheer amount of _stuff_ my parents hoarded is absolutely absurd. I feel like I’m at the thrift store donating a car load of things every second day, and I’ve sold enough on Craigslist that I might actually be able to afford a vacation once I’m finished.”

I laugh. “Do you have a lot to go?”

“Still a couple of rooms downstairs, and the attic which is practically a whole houseful by itself,” Angela grimaces. “Once I’ve done that I’ll work on getting the house ready to list in the spring; there are lots of little repairs to be done, and I thought I would probably paint to freshen it up. I’m sure whoever buys it will want to renovate and update everything anyway.”

“Let me know if you want a hand with anything; I painted our place so I have some experience there. Where will you live once you’ve sold the house?”

“I’ll rent an apartment somewhere. Maybe something closer to my mom if she’s still…I’ll have to see what’s available.” Angela sounds glum.

“How was your mom this morning?” I ask.

Angela shrugs. “Not good. She hasn’t eaten for a while now and she’s drinking less every day. She rarely talks…I wish Isaac and Josh had come to town for Christmas! I hate being the one who always has to make the decisions!” Her voice quavers. “I spoke to the doctor yesterday and she said we’re approaching end stage now. If Mom stops taking liquids then there’s nothing we can do. She gave me a whole bunch of information to read about what to expect, but she also said that she can’t make predictions…I just hate this so much. I’ve been watching my mom die for four years now, and I can’t…I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Angela’s eyes overflow and without thinking about it I sit beside her and wrap my arms around her, holding her as best I can with Holly in the way and letting her sob into my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she snuffles. “I know it’s Christmas…I don’t want to spoil the day.”

“It’s all right.” I stroke her hair, fighting the desire to kiss her head. “You’re not spoiling anything. It’s okay for you to be upset...it’s your _mom._ ” I can’t even bring myself to think how I would be reacting if it were Esme.

Holly opens her eyes, and then a moment later she pulls the pacifier out of her own mouth and tries to give it to put it in Angela’s. “Anya…”

Angela’s laugh is shaky and clogged with tears, but it’s real. “Thank you sweetie, but you can keep it.” She pops it back into Holly’s mouth and the baby smiles around it and closes her eyes again, and I feel her relax back into my chest. Angela rests her head against my shoulder and I keep an arm around her, my cheek against her hair, staring out into the yard and wishing that we could stay this way.

_______________________________________________

Alice comes home with the kids and I when we finally leave Edward and Bella’s house in the early evening, Jasper promising to pick her up later. I’m glad for the company, and even more glad for the assistance in getting six overexcited and overtired children bathed, fed, and in to bed. I’m exhausted by the time I come back to the living room after putting Holly in her crib, but seeing the mess of torn wrapping paper and abandoned packaging all over the floor I sigh and grab a garbage bag.

“Your life is just an endless round of chores,” Alice mutters, crawling around the floor to help me. “Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“Like…every day?” I half laugh and half sigh. “But what are you going to do? I can’t send them back.”

I wouldn’t anyway. Of course I get tired of the endless work associated with parenting, but the way I love them…it’s worth everything.

“Anyway, I didn’t come over here to clean your house.” Alice sits on the garbage bag to compact all the wrapping and gives me a self-deprecating smile. “I know my previous attempts to interfere in your life have not always been that well received, but I’m going to do it again anyway! I want to talk to you about Angela.”

“What about her?” I scan the floor for twist ties and scraps of tape so I don’t have to look at Alice.

“I can see what you feel for her,” Alice says directly. “I’ve been watching this build since our summer vacation and every time I talk to you I see it even more - and I’m so happy I can’t tell you! – but I wanted to make sure that you’ve really thought about it and you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“What do you mean?”

“Angela is amazing with the kids. And you need someone who is – they’re a huge part of your life and whoever you choose is going to have to be willing to take it all on. They will need to be able to love the kids and do all the hard, dirty work of raising them, and still honour the memory of Rosalie as their mother. Like _our_ mom always has. You need someone who can do that…but it can’t be the main reason for you to choose someone.” Alice’s eyes on mine are intent. “You always put other people’s needs first Emmett, but you can’t do that here. This needs to be about you…when you fall in love again it has to be because she’s right for _you_ , not only because she’s right for the kids. Do you see what I’m saying? I can see how you feel about Angela, but I just want to make sure that it’s because of you, that if the kids weren’t a factor you would still choose her for _you_.”

I think of Angela’s dark eyes and soft smile, her kindness and grace, her gentle sense of fun and steadfast loyalty. “Yeah, I would. This isn’t…it’s not about the kids.” I clear my throat. “But nothing’s going to happen, no matter what the feelings on my end. We kissed one time, but she doesn’t want to take it any further.”

“What, really?” Alice looks nonplussed for a moment, and then shrugs her shoulders with a brief giggle. “Oh well, that’s not going to last. Gosh the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is looking! She’s being careful, that’s all, and isn’t that part of what’s so good about her? I’m not worried about the feelings on _her_ side of things,” Alice finishes complacently.

I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t stop the tiny fluttering wings of hope in my heart. My sister can be an interfering and annoying know it all, but when it comes to people…she’s rarely wrong.

My eyes are drawn to the wedding photo of Rosalie and I that still hangs over the fireplace. “You think it’s okay that I’m even thinking this way? I mean, it’s all so different to Rosalie and…I don’t even know how any of this works! It’s not too soon, or too…wrong?”

Alice reaches out and grabs my hand. “What you had with Rosalie, you’ll never have that again. It’s gone.” There are tears in her eyes, but her smile is bright. “But there are a million different ways to love, and it’s not a competition. You and Angela, that’s going to be different, that’s all. Not less, just different…and just as beautiful in its own way.”


	51. Happy New Year

“No no, you can’t have that, we haven’t paid for it yet.” I prise a banana out of Zeke’s grabby little hands and add it to the produce bag, angling the cart so he can’t reach any more of the fruit.

“Mine!” Zeke twists against the straps and reaches towards the stand of bananas. “Nana mine! Daddy, I hungry…nana mine!” His voice rises to a shriek.

“And to think I thought it was so great when you started talking,” I say ruefully. “Now all I hear is “Mine! Mine!” all day…you sound like a seagull. Here, why don’t you call someone and tell them all about it?”

I dig into the front pocket of the diaper bag and pull out the two old flip phones that are the little twins’ favourite out-and-about toys. Smart phones might be a great invention, but there’s nothing like a dead flip phone with a snappy folding screen and loads of buttons if you’re two years old. Bram and Zeke grab for them, and it’s a good enough distraction that I’m able to pile up my cart with the bananas, apples, grapes and oranges that I need and get out of the produce section without creating a scene.

Diapers, wipes, toothpaste, milk, crackers, pasta, peanut butter…I work my way through the list, as Daisy, Mac and Noah all fight over whose turn it is to grab whatever it is off the shelf. Keeping the cart towards the centre of the aisle as much as possible, so that Bram and Zeke can’t reach the shelves, I curse winter break from school and my own ineptitude in forgetting to do an online grocery order for delivery. In the carrier on my back, Holly is working on cutting some new teeth and whines fretfully, the drool soaking into my t-shirt.

“Okay, I think that’s everything – let’s grab some donuts and get out of here.”

“Anya!” Bram points past me with a beaming smile and I turn and see Angela walking towards us, a shopping basket over one arm and a little pink sneaker in her hand. Mac, Noah and Daisy all run to her.

“Oh hey,” I say, a grin spreading across my face. “It’s so good to see you!”

“We miss you!” Daisy says fervently, clinging to Angela’s hand.

“Oh, I miss you all too!” Angela smiles and holds up the sneaker. “I found this back by the peanut butter. I was going to drop it off at customer service, but it looks like it’s yours, Little Miss Holly.” She fits it onto Holly’s foot dangling from the carrier and I feel her cheek against my shoulder blade as she kisses the baby.

“We’re buying stuff for tonight!” Mac says, grabbing the _Happy New Year!_ party whistles that I’m already regretting from the cart. “We got these and chips and hot dogs and Dad says we can stay up until midnight!”

“I said you can _try_ and stay up,” I mutter, looking at Angela in concern. She’s holding Daisy’s hand and smiling at Mac, but her face looks drawn and there are dark shadows under her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Angela shrugs. “Oh, you know…so you guys are having a little New Year’s Eve party?”

“If me with a six pack of beer, some chips, three kids who will _definitely_ be in bed and three kids who _might_ be in bed is a party then yes,” I snort.

“You should come!” Noah says enthusiastically. “We’re going to watch the countdown on tv and Dad says we’ll be able to see the fireworks. I’ve never stayed up so late!”

“Yes, come!” Daisy and Mac join in begging, and even Zeke and Bram start clamouring even though they don’t know what’s going on.

Angela laughs, and it’s good to see the worried lines on her face lift, even if only for a moment.

She looks across at me, and I grin and say, “The tribe has spoken…we’d love to have you! If you don’t have any other plans? We’ve already even bought your favourite snacks.” I gesture to the cart, where I’ve unconsciously selected Angela’s favourite sour gummi bears and the chocolate teddy grahams she likes.

While Angela’s been taking a break, I’ve missed her more than I want to admit. The number of times in the last week and a half that I’ve almost called her on some pretext just because I want to hear her voice is mortifying. I’m as happy as the kids are when she promises to join us for the evening.

Back at home I put all the groceries away and then rush around trying to clean up. With the kids on vacation from school and Angela away, our house has gone from ‘comfortably lived-in’ to ‘complete disaster’ and I don’t want her to think I’m not managing without her. Despite what the evidence might suggest to the contrary!

I’m in the kitchen when Angela arrives, frying burgers with one hand and holding a grizzling Holly with the other. Angela puts a plate of Rice Krispy treats on the table, a bottle of champagne into the fridge, and then holds her hands out for Holly.

“Aww Holly…come give Anya a hug.”

“She’s working on some new teeth,” I say, happily surrendering Holly to Angela. “Painful ones, apparently.”

“Poor baby,” Angela says sympathetically, kissing Holly’s red cheek. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

“Oh no, thank _you_ for coming!” I grin at her. “I’m really glad…I’ve missed you.” I turn back to the burgers before she can see any hint of red in my cheeks. “We’ve got food and some games and a movie and we can see the town fireworks from the back porch so it should be okay. I don’t know how long the kids will be able to stay up, but we’ll see how we go.”

“It sounds great,” Angela says, before the kids come in and drag her into the living room so they can show her all their Christmas gifts and all the drawings and Lego creations they’ve made while she’s been away. It’s clear that they’ve all missed her too.

Dinner is a noisy and happy meal, and afterwards we let all the kids play for a while, running around laughing and blowing party whistles, before Angela and I slip easily into our usual bedtime routine of getting them bathed and diapered and cleaning teeth. I am soundly rejected by Bram and Zeke for story time with loud shrieks of “No! Anya do it!” so I leave her to it and go and give Holly her bottle. Once all the little ones are in bed I confiscate the party whistles, and Angela and I sit down with the big kids for snacks and games. We play some Uno, and Sorry! and Operation, and when the kids start getting overtired and irritable we put on a movie. It’s not exactly a hot party, but it’s fun and family enough to fill my heart.

Later, I head into the kitchen for another drink. Angela follows a moment later, and along with my beer I bring out her bottle of champagne from the fridge.

“Are we saving this for midnight, or do you want me to crack it open for you now?”

“Now would be good.” Angela accepts a glass and taps it lightly against my beer bottle. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I take a swallow. “Thanks again for coming tonight. The kids loved seeing you again, they’ve really missed you…I’ve missed you too. I mean, I know it’s probably not the most exciting New Year’s Eve you’ve ever spent, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’ve never been that big on New Year’s Eve,” Angela says. “I’ve had a couple of fun ones, but mostly I’ve always kept it pretty quiet. And I’m hopeless with resolutions!”

I laugh. “Yeah, me too. I always say I’ll floss my teeth every day or stop swearing so much or something like that, and then I fail by January second.”

“So you don’t have any for this coming year then?”

“No.” I shake my head. “There are maybe some things that I want to see happen next year, but I don’t want to make it a resolution! Way too much pressure!”

Angela picks at a Rice Krispy treat. “What are you hoping for?”

_You._

I don’t say it.

Instead I take another drink and say, “Well, mostly a lot more of what was good about this year. I mean, I look back at where I was this time last year and…I was in such a bad place. We were _all_ in a bad place. Everything felt impossible. But over this year, it’s all changed so much. I’m back at the shop and doing some really good work there, and I want to keep that going. You came into our lives, and you and I have figured out how to make this household run in a way that really works, and I want to keep that going too. I want to see the kids thriving the way they are now –they’ve all grown and learned so much over this year, they’ve all become smarter and more resilient and more capable and I want to see them keep doing that. This year has been such damned hard work, but I can see the good that’s coming from it, and I want more of that.”

“I think you’ll get it,” Angela says. “I’m sure there’ll be ups and downs, but nothing you won’t be able to handle.”

“It’s one thing about losing Rosalie,” I say, “I feel we’ve already made it through the worst that can happen. Next year _has_ to be easier than this year was.” I grin at her. “Even if we are going to have to potty train the little twins! That’s something that we’re going to have to tackle at some point. And…damn, maybe even Holly? She’ll be two by the end of the year, Daisy potty trained early, so maybe…imagine our lives without three in diapers!”

I raise my drink, and Angela laughs and taps her glass against mine again. “We might get lucky.”

“What about you?” I ask. “What are you hoping for in the new year?”

“I want what you want for the kids. It’s the best part about being a nanny, being there for the long term and really feeling involved in the children’s growth and development. I love your kids, and I’m so proud of them and the work I’m doing with your family.” Angela smiles at me a little sheepishly. “Aside from that, I guess I want to get my parents’ house packed up and sold, and find my own place. And when I do, I’m going to get a cat.”

“A cat?” I laugh.

“Yes. I’ve wanted one my whole life. But when I was growing up my mother was allergic, and then I couldn’t have one at college or my first nanny job, and then Patrick had a dog that wasn’t cat friendly…I’ve just never been able to have one. But I’ve decided that as soon as I’ve sold the house and have a place, I’m going to adopt one.”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” I say. “You should do something for yourself.”

“It’s hard to think that far ahead though,” she adds quietly. “My mom is…she’s dying now. It won’t be long. That why I’m so glad you invited me over – I would have hated to be alone tonight.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling helpless. “You can come over anytime…I’m always here for you. And if you need more time off, please just say so.”

“Thank you.” Angela finishes her glass and heads to the fridge to pour another. “I’ve called Josh and Isaac to come. They think she has a lung infection now, and if so that will probably mean the end. No one can predict exactly how long, so I don’t know if Josh and Isaac will be able to stay til the end but at least they’ll have a chance to say goodbye.” She looks at me bleakly. “I’ve been spending most of my time off with her and it’s so hard. I just want it to be over…I feel so guilty for saying that, but I’ve been watching her fade for years. It’s like losing her a thousand times over. Every time she lost more of her memories and more of her personality it hurt all over again…I’m just so _tired_ , Emmett.”

“My mom died of a drug overdose,” I say slowly. “It happened when I was sixteen, before Esme and Carlisle adopted me, but it was a long time coming before that. Years. I remember…watching her slip away, a little bit more all the time as her addiction took hold and got stronger. I didn’t want her to die, I wanted her to kick it and get better, but by the end…mostly I wanted it to be over, one way or the other. I hated watching her destroy herself. And it’s not the same as you and your mom, not at all, but it’s…I kind of understand.”

“You don’t really talk about your mother. You’ve said your childhood wasn’t good, but you’ve never told me a lot of details.”

“It was pretty bad. But it was all I knew, so I didn’t even realise for a long time just how far off normal it was. Going to live with Esme and Carlisle was like falling into a different world. And then having my own kids and…damn, I held my babies and thought about what my momma did to me, and let other people do to me, and I saw my childhood in a whole new way.” I shake my head.

“My childhood was really good.” Angela says. “My parents were wonderful. Sometimes people think that it must have been strict and cheerless to grow up in a minister’s house but it never was. My dad got such joy out of his calling and dedicating his life to service. Mom too. She didn’t lead at church, but she kept up with everyone in the congregation and she was always visiting and knitting and baking and sewing for people with new babies or illnesses or bereavements or any special occasion. She always knew who needed help and she was right there, rolling up her sleeves and doing the work. She had to start writing her Christmas cards in September just to get them all done, because she wrote so many!” She laughs reminiscently. “They were strict, but not in a way that I ever felt burdened by. They were so interested in everything I was doing, and they were so encouraging. They saw success differently too. They were happy if I got good grades or did well in my flute recital or whatever, but it wasn’t what really mattered to them. ‘Did you make a difference today?’ That’s what my dad used to say to me. ‘Did you make a difference today? Is something in the world just a little bit better because you were there?’ That’s what he wanted me to do, and I’ve always tried to live my life that way.”

I love watching her smile at the memories. “He’d really approve of your job then. There are six kids here whose lives are _definitely_ better every single day because you’re here.”

_Not to mention me._

Angela laughs again. “Yes, he’d be proud of me for this. It doesn’t have to be something big though; when I was a little girl I’d sit on his lap and he’d ask me and we’d talk about my day and find something. If I was kind to someone at school, or I helped Mom deliver cookies to the new family who moved in down the street, or even just something as simple as smiling at the bus driver and thanking him for the ride counted.”

“That’s what I remembered about you from high school,” I say. “That you were kind, and you were always doing things to make a difference….what was it I said to Bella when she asked if I remembered you? Always making worthy speeches at assembly and raising money for good causes, I think.”

“I was probably insufferable,” Angela giggles. “But I was always trying to do the right thing!”

“I think it’s good,” I say. “The world needs people who care…your parents must have been good people to have raised you.”

“I wish you could have met them,” Angela says wistfully. “You would have liked them, and I would have loved to introduce you and the kids to them. And not like at Halloween, when my mom was calling Bram and Zeke by my brother’s name because she’s living in the past.”

I pour her another drink. “At least she was happy, and it’s not like Bram and Zeke minded. Now, it’s getting close to midnight, and if we’re going to go outside and watch the fireworks and we should probably find some coats because it’s freezing out there.”

Daisy, Mac and Noah have all somehow managed to stay awake, and they’re thrilled to put on coats and boots and run outside into the darkened yard. Laughing, they jump on the trampoline and then gather close with Angela and I to countdown the final seconds of the year. As midnight strikes and they all blow their party whistles and jump up and down cheering as we watch the distant fireworks over town, I know that there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.

_Happy New Year._


	52. How We Belong

The ringing phone wakes me, and I grope for it on my nightstand and answer without looking. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry Emmett, did I wake you?”

It’s Angela. I stifle a yawn and check the clock; it’s nearly eleven. “No, I was just…it’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Mom died today.”

“Ahh, I’m sorry,” I say, knowing that as inadequate as the words are there’s really nothing else I can say. “I really am. Were you there?”

“Thank you. Josh and Isaac and I were with her, and it was…quiet, in the end,” Angela says. “Peaceful.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I wish I could be with her. “Anything at all to help you?”

“We’re holding the funeral service early next week,” Angela says. “Josh and Isaac have to get back so it needs to be soon, and knowing it was imminent we’d already made a lot of the arrangements and decisions. So I’ll be able to come back to work after that.”

“No, don’t worry about it, take another week or whatever you need. I’ll reschedule work or get Esme to help me,” I say.

“I appreciate it, but if you don’t mind I’d really rather come back to work. I’ve really missed the children and I’d rather try and get back to normal as soon as possible…I don’t know, I think I’d rather be busy than just…thinking.”

“It’s totally up to you. Don’t feel that you have to rush back to us, but of course if you want to be here that’s fine too,” I say, thinking that I’ll talk to Esme about being available on short notice, and maybe reschedule a couple of things anyway. “I’ll be at the funeral too.” 

“That would be good.” Angela hesitates for a moment. “Would you bring Holly? She won’t be any trouble and it would be nice to have her there.”

“Of course I’ll bring her, if you want.” Even at fourteen months old Holly has maintained the same placid temperament she had as an infant, and is one of those happy and compliant babies that are easy to take places. After Daisy the baby tyrant and the whirlwind chaos of the twins, I know enough to appreciate how obliging she is! 

“Thank you.” Angela is quiet for a long time, before she says softly, “I thought I was ready for this, but now that it’s happened I don’t know what to feel.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come.”

“Part of me is just relieved that it’s all over. Relieved for me, because I don’t have to watch and wait and feel so helpless anymore. More relieved for her, because now she’s not scared or hurting or struggling anymore – she’s whole and happy and with my dad again. I really believe that. But at the same time, she’s my _mom_ and she’s gone…and all I can think of is that we didn’t finish the book,” Angela says, her voice shaking. “The last few days, while I sat with her, I couldn’t…I was going crazy. So I read to her, _The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_. It’s her favourite book… _was_...her favourite book. But I didn’t finish it. I only had one chapter left and I stopped reading and now I’ll never be able to finish it with her!”

“Oh Angela…Anya…” I murmur. “It’s all right…”

_Those damned unfinished things._

“She would never want to leave a book unfinished. Even that one, that she could practically recite she knew it so well!”

“So finish it now,” I say. I don’t know what my own beliefs are about what happens after death. Even after all I’ve been through…I don’t know. But I know what Angela believes, and I know that this will comfort her. “You’ve got the book with you? Read it now; I’ll listen. And your mom…she’ll listen too.”

“You don’t mind?” It sounds like she’s holding her breath.

“Not at all,” I say. “ _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ huh…I saw the movie, I think. Lions, witches and wardrobes, right? People with goat feet?”

Angela’s laugh ends with a little hiccupping sob, but it’s real while it lasts. “Yes. And it’s just the last chapter to go.”

“Well, I’m listening.” I settle back on my pillow, tucking the phone against my ear. “All right; go ahead and finish your book.”

She clears her throat and begins.

______________________________________________

Carlisle volunteers to baby sit Bram and Zeke so that Esme can come to the funeral with me. She and Angela have spent a lot of time together in the past year when I work late, and they’ve become quite close. On Monday morning Bella calls and asks if Eliza and Rob can stay with Carlisle and the twins so she can come too. She and Angela have been friends since high school and have regular playdates with the kids, and she wants to be there for her. I say yes of course, and think about how much a part of the family Angela feels and how easily she fits in.

The funeral is being held at the church Angela’s father was a minister at for so many years, and the place is absolutely packed. Angela is standing by the door, greeting people as they arrive and accepting their condolences, and we work our way through the crowd towards her.

“Oh Emmett, thank you for coming.” Angela takes Holly into her arms and hugs her, hiding her face for a moment in her fluffy golden hair. “Oh Holly-bean…” There are tears in her eyes when she lifts her head, but she quickly composes herself and smiles at Esme and Bella. “It was lovely of you to come.”

“We’re so sorry.” Esme hugs her, and Bella reaches out and squeezes her hand.

Angela turns to the side, touching the sleeve of the tall man standing beside her. “Josh, this is the family I work for. Emmett, and Esme and Bella. And this is my Holly,” she adds proudly, bouncing Holly in her arms and kissing her forehead.

Angela’s brother turns and smiles down at Holly, and then quickly shakes hands with Esme, Bella and I. “I’m Josh Weber. It was good of you to come. Nice to meet you after hearing so much.” He waves at Holly. “Hi cutie.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I say.

“Thanks.” He nudges the man next to him. “Isaac, it’s Angie’s work family.”

His brother stretches out a hand. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

Isaac and Josh are like Bram and Zeke, identical to a degree that’s almost disorienting. Holly looks from one to another in astonishment, her eyes wide, and seeing her both men laugh.

“You’d think she’d be used to it; Angie said your twins are really similar.”

“You know how it is, after a while you only see the differences,” I say. I reach for Holly, aware of the people waiting behind me, but Angela just hugs her a little tighter and shakes her head.

“She’s all right. I don’t mind holding her.”

I step back, watching Angela finish greeting the guests with Holly held securely in one arm. When the service is about to start, she looks around for me. “Will you and Holly sit with me?” she asks quietly. “Do you mind if I keep holding her?”

“Whatever you want.”

It feels a little awkward following Angela into the first pew, being quickly introduced to Josh’s wife Megan, and taking a seat on the far end. This row is for family. But I know how much Angela loves Holly, and if she’s finding some comfort from holding her in her lap, breathing in the scent of her curls and seeing her dimpled smile, I’m glad.

Besides, who would understand that better than I do? How many hours have I spent lost in grief, with Holly’s warmth in my arms being the anchor that held me steady and her smile the light that guided me forward? Holly has always had her own kind of magic, and I understand completely why Angela asked me to bring her here today.

Holly sits placidly on Angela’s lap as the service progresses. To help keep her settled I give her the baby doll we’d packed into the diaper bag and she babbles quietly to it, rocking it back and forth to watch its eyes open and close. She likes the music, listening attentively to the choir sing and clapping solemnly at the end as though she’s at a concert. She’s fascinated by the candles burning on the altar. Several times she leans forwards and makes fruitless efforts to blow them out, and beside me I see Angela shake with a quick flutter of laughter. 

I hadn’t admitted to anyone how scared I had been to attend this funeral. I came for Angela, because she needed me, but I’d been terrified of the feelings that it might raise in me. I was dreading the memories that it might bring of the savage agony of Rosalie’s funeral.

But when I’m there in the church, it’s not really like that at all. Certainly there is sadness here, but there is also a very real sense of celebrating a life that was long and full. Mrs Weber had seventy years. Her eulogy, the photo tribute that someone has put together, they all show so much – her childhood, college, her marriage and years of travelling missionary work. Her children, first a baby Angela that makes me laugh with her chipmunk cheeks and wild scarecrow hair, and then her two identical boys. She had a grandchild. She had years of family, of friends and community work, of loving and being loved. And her death is sad and she will be missed, but it doesn’t carry the bitter sting of regret over a life cut too short.

Angela cries, but she smiles too and laughs at some of the stories shared. And when the last hymn is sung, she’s holding my hand.

____________________________________

Yawning, I move through the house switching off lights and checking on the kids. They’re all asleep, Daisy an almost invisible lump in her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, Noah curled up with his Banky over his face and Mac sprawled out on his back and snoring lightly. Bram and Zeke are both in Bram’s bed, Bram hugging his stuffed cat and Zeke with an arm thrown over his brother. Holly is sleeping bunched up in one corner of the crib with her knees tucked up under her and her butt in the air, her face pillowed on her zebra. I gently slide her away from the crib bars, and as I do so I see headlights slide across her drapes from a car coming up the driveway.

I open the front door. It’s Angela, still wearing the same dress she wore to the funeral this morning, climbing slowly up the front steps. Her face, when she looks at me under the porch lights, is stricken.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But I was all alone at home and I couldn’t…please can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

I open my arms and she steps into them, leaning into me, and once again I feel it. _This is how we belong._ The fluttering wings of hope that I’d felt so faintly when Alice promised me at Christmas that Angela had feelings for me, begin to beat more strongly. _This is how we belong._

I don’t say anything. I simply hold her, right there on the doorstep, arms wrapped tight around her while she buries her face in my neck. Just as she has held my grief and sorrow when I needed it, I now hold hers, waiting until she’s ready to talk.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers tiredly. “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t apologise,” I say, tenderly smoothing back her hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Josh and Megan and Isaac all left tonight,” she says. “They had to get back. So it was just me at the house and it all hit me…they’re all gone. My mom, Micah, my dad…there’s _no one_ anymore. My brothers love me and we’re good friends, but they have their own lives in a different state. I felt so alone! I couldn’t stand it, and all I could think of was to come here to you…” Her voice cracks and her eyes overflow, and she hides her face back against my shoulder.

I just hold her, curving my hand around the back of her head as my heart aches. I feel her pain like it’s my own, that terrible loneliness of losing someone you love, but it also makes me realise how much I had when I lost Rosalie. I lost the centre of my world when I lost her, but I had all my children, I had Carlisle and Esme, Alice, Edward, Jasper and Bella, Jonah…family and friends and loved ones enough to smooth the edges and hold me up and ease the feelings of isolation.

_Let me do that for you. You’re not alone._

I draw her inside, locking the door behind me. The house is quiet, the hallway nightlight I leave on so the kids can see to get to the toilet shining faintly. At the opposite end of the house, the warm glow of my bedside lamp spills out from my room, and Angela moves towards it.

I hesitate for a moment in the doorway, watching as Angela perches on the edge of the bed. “It looks different in here…you reorganised everything.”

“Yeah, Esme and Alice helped me do it at Christmas.” I realise that Angela has only been here once since then, on New Year’s Eve, and she mustn’t have seen it then. “I packed away some of Rosalie’s things for the kids and donated the rest…it was more than time.”

“It looks nice.” Angela reaches for a tissue to clean her glasses, which even I can tell are smudged with tears. She blinks up at me. “I’m sorry I just turned up on your doorstep to weep on your shoulder.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” I sit on the bed beside her. “I’m glad you’re here…I want you here all the time.” I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “I just mean, any time you want to be here. I don’t like to think of you being alone and unhappy – don’t ever think that I won’t do anything I can for you.”

Angela rests her head against my shoulder. “I loved my mom so much,” she says, her voice small. “She was my biggest role model growing up, I never felt anything but loved and wanted and cherished, and she became such a good friend when I grew up. I would never have got through losing Micah without her. And she’s really been gone for a long time already, I know that…but this still hurts so much.” 

“I know.” I slip an arm around her, and turn my head slightly to rest my cheek against her soft hair. “And I’m so sorry.”

We sit quietly for a long time. It’s not until Angela yawns that I glance over at the clock and realise how late it’s getting.

“You should try and get some sleep. You can sleep in here, I can…whatever you want. Stay with you, or I’m happy to go sleep on the sofa or in Zeke’s bed, he’s in with Bram so it’s no big deal…”

Angela’s hand covers mine, and I stop talking. “Stay with me,” she says softly. “Please.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Sure…do you want to borrow a t-shirt?” She’s still wearing the black dress she wore to the funeral, with tights and heels.

Angela nods and I go into the closet and grab something. “Here you go. I’ll just go clean my teeth so you can get changed.”

Locked into the bathroom I scrub my teeth with a hand that shakes slightly every time I think about Angela on the other side of the door. Angela, about to spend the night with me. And nothing is going to happen, I know that, but it’s been over a year since I slept with a woman in my bed and my entire body quivers at the thought. But I rinse my mouth, check that the boxer shorts I’m wearing aren’t missing any fly buttons and don’t have holes in them (buying new underwear has not been high on my priority list) and then take a deep breath and go out into the bedroom.

Angela is already in bed, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling, while tears roll silently down into her hair. I forget all about my feelings of awkwardness, climbing into bed and switching off the light before I reach for her without another thought. “Come here baby.”

It’s easier in the dark. She rolls towards me, and I wrap my arms around her as she buries her face in my chest and sobs unrestrainedly. I kiss her hair and rub her back and rock her slowly, murmuring words of comfort as she cries. I don’t worry about whether it’s too much, or too close, to too anything, as I do what I can to make her feel safe and surrounded and loved.

Because I do love her. It’s easy to see it there in the dark, holding her close as her sobs fade, my lips in her hair and my heart beating under her cheek. _I love you._ She isn’t Rosalie, and this is not what I had with Rosalie, but it doesn’t have to be. It is love, and it’s real and strong and worthy, and I know enough now to _really_ know how much it matters. It’s worth fighting for.

I don’t say any of this to Angela. It’s not the right time. I love her, and the fact that she’s here with me tonight says a lot about how she feels about me, but I know it’s not as simple as that. It’s not like falling in love with Rosalie when we were both sixteen years old, with nothing standing in the way but Rosalie’s cheerleading schedule, a slightly psychotic ex-boyfriend, and getting some homework done occasionally. Angela and I have twenty extra years of life experience. We have pasts of love and marriage and loss, hopes and plans both filled and unfulfilled, full adult lives that we would have to somehow meld together. And then there are the children. My six, Angela’s Micah, and the babies that I know she wants to have someday. None of this is easy.

But it doesn’t matter, not right now. Not when she’s warm and soft and right there in my arms. I kiss her hair as her sobs fade, and stroke the length of her back, feeling her breath deepen and even as she drifts off to sleep. I know that tomorrow is a new day and all the issues will be right back on the table, but for right now… _I love you._ I smile to myself and close my eyes.


	53. Room For More

I dream of Rosalie.

Not the nauseating, horror-filled dream of fucking her corpse that tormented me for months after her death, but something new. Peaceful. She and I are down by the river, sitting companionably on her memorial stone and watching the kids play in the water. The kids are all the size of Barbie dolls, which is how I know it’s a dream, but even so my heart lifts as I turn my head and look at her. She sees me looking and grins, a look so familiar and beloved that it makes me laugh just to see it again.

_I’ve missed you._

_I know._ She cups my face in her hands for a moment and kisses me. _It’s all right, you know._

_Is it?_

_Yes._ She kisses me again, feeling warm and solid and real in my arms. _I love you though._

_I love you too, Rosa-girl._

There’s a brief moment of confusion as I surface back into wakefulness, where for a moment I still feel like I’m holding Rosalie in my arms. But it’s Angela I’m wrapped around, Angela’s neck my lips are pressed against, Angela’s back and thighs curved against me. And as the feel of Rosalie in my arms fades and the reality of Angela intensifies, it still feels right.

_It’s all right, you know._

I stretch my legs and ease away slightly. I don’t want to wake her if she’s still asleep, and apparently when it comes to a woman in my bed I have no more control over my body than a teenage boy. But Angela is already awake and as soon as she feels me move she rolls over to face me with a shy smile. “Good morning.”

“Hey you.” I can’t stop myself from reaching out and brushing my fingers down the side of her face. She looks different without her glasses. “How are you? Sleep okay?”

“I did actually,” Angela says with an air of faint surprise. “I guess I was really exhausted.”

“Yesterday was a hard day.”

She nods, and her hand drifts up until she lays it gently over my heart. “Thank you for last night. I was so sad, and you were all I wanted.” She bites her lip and then says hurriedly. “I hope you don’t mind that I came to you. I know I pushed you away that other time and said…well, I said a lot of things. But it was never that I didn’t want…you…or this…”

“I am always here for you,” I say hoarsely, my breath catching in my throat as Angela’s dark eyes meet mine. “Whenever you need me, whatever you need…”

“I know,” she whispers, and then tips her face towards me and kisses me.

It feels for a moment like gravity doesn’t exist. That the only thing holding me to the earth is the electrifying touch of her lips on mine. I kiss her back, breathing a noise of pure desire into her mouth, my heart drumming fast and hard against the touch of her hand on my chest. _Oh. Oh. Oh._

Angela pulls back a little, but we’re still nose to nose on my pillow. I can feel the heat in her face, see the slight trembling of her lip as she tries to catch her breath. But she’s not moving away, and as I curve my hands around her face she says my name and relaxes her body until the full length of her is pressed against me.

_This is how we belong._

For a moment I bury my face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, kissing her warm skin and feeling her squirm as I hit a ticklish spot. And then both of us are smiling, and Angela laughs breathlessly as I press my forehead against hers.

“I love you,” I say honestly. “I do. And now is not the time to talk about that, I know…now is _really_ not the time to talk about that,” I add ruefully, as the baby monitor behind her crackles into life and I hear Holly’s early morning noises. “And I know there’s a whole load of complications here but at the heart of it all, I love you. And I think you feel…something.”

For a moment I falter, but Angela ducks her head and nods against my neck and I laugh joyously and give her a quick, hard kiss.

“Good. I love you. I want you. And I think we owe it to ourselves to figure this out. Not _now_ ,” I say in resignation, as Holly’s singsong “Da-da!” echoes from the baby monitor. “But…soon.” I kiss her forehead and slide out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the closet. “I’ll get Holly. What do you want to do? Head off home now? Or do you want to have breakfast with us? You’ve got a change of clothes here.”

Angela sits up. “What about the kids? Won’t they ask questions if I’m here at breakfast?”

I pause. The kids hadn’t even asked when Angela slept over on New Year’s Eve after drinking most of a bottle of champagne, although that had been in the spare room. “You could just say you came over early,” I say eventually. “I don’t think any of them are up yet, so if you’re dressed and out in the living room they probably won’t question it too much.”

Lying to the children doesn’t exactly sit comfortably with me, but nor do I think I’m ready to talk with them about Angela spending the night in Daddy’s bed at this point either. So I hurry down to the guest room and grab the bag holding Angela’s spare clothes, tossing them in to her before I go and get Holly out of her crib.

Holly is delighted to see me, giving me several ecstatic hugs and some sloppy kisses before she’ll let me lay her down to change her diaper. Once that’s done Bram and Zeke are awake, so I change their diapers too and then let them run to the living room.

“Anya!” The three of them are absolutely thrilled when they find Angela in the living room, and I smile as I watch them basically crash tackle her onto the sofa for hugs. The two and a half weeks she’s been away from work is a really long time for toddlers. And even though I was honest when I told Alice that my feelings for Angela weren’t based on her being so brilliant with the kids, I’m realistic enough to know a relationship between us would stand no chance if she wasn’t. It’s good to see how happy the kids are to see her.

“Angie!” Mac comes down the stairs with a grin, Noah running down after him. “How come you’re here so early?”

“I missed you guys!” Angela says, jumping up and kissing his curly head. “I thought I’d come over early today. Who’s ready for breakfast?”

We get on with the morning routine. I call up the stairs to wake Daisy, and several minutes later she slouches down the stairs and goes to the shower without a word. I start making the oatmeal and cutting up bananas while Angela toasts bread and pours milk, and we get the kids eating breakfast. Daisy’s apparent bad mood continues, as she takes so long in the bathroom I have to knock twice to tell her to hurry up before she appears and eats her breakfast in sullen silence. She curtly refuses Angela’s offer of help with her hair or packing her school things and flounces upstairs. When I hear her bedroom door slam I start to go after her, but am distracted by Holly choking on a piece of toast and Bram knocking his cup of milk to the floor. By the time I’ve whacked Holly on the back and mopped up all the milk, Daisy is dressed and running out the door to catch the bus with her school backpack on her back and her gymnastics bag slung over a shoulder. Mac and Noah dash after her a moment later.

“Daisy’s not normally so cranky in the morning, is she?” Angela asks, helping the little twins strip off their pyjamas.

“No, not usually,” I say, unbuttoning Holly’s sleeper. “Don’t know what all that was about.”

“Do you think…is it possible she realised I stayed here last night?” Angela asks hesitantly, helping Zeke pull on a pair of pants.

“Maybe, I guess. She was still upstairs when I got up this morning, but if she came down during the night for the toilet or a drink of water she might have seen something.” I try and remember if I closed the bedroom door when Angela and I went to bed last night and can’t. I usually leave it open so I can hear the kids, and wonder uneasily if I’d done so last night just out of habit.

“If she saw me, that might have upset her,” Angela says.

“Do you think so? Would she really care? I mean, she wouldn’t have seen anything inappropriate, and she loves you…” My voice trails away.

“If her attitude this morning actually was because she saw me in your bedroom, I think she very much _does_ care,” Angela says, tugging a sweater down over Bram’s head. “It’s not about whether she likes me as a person or not. Daisy’s old enough to have some understanding of relationships, and the idea of you replacing her mother with someone else might be hard to take.”

“I’m not _replacing_ Rosalie,” I say tightly, buckling Holly into her overalls. “You…this is completely different. You can’t compare the two things. You know that, right?” I say in sudden concern. “You’re not a _replacement._ What I feel for you is a whole different thing…”

“I know that,” Angela says gently. “But you and I…this is the kind of thing we’re going to have to deal with. People are going to have opinions. Whether they think it’s too soon, or not soon enough, think I’m taking advantage of you or you’re taking advantage of me, or whether it’s just too tacky with me being the nanny.” She laughs briefly, and then sobers up. “Most people, it won’t matter what they think. It isn’t their business. But the kids…it _does_ matter what they think.”

I nod slowly. “You’re right, of course…the kids have to come first. I just find it hard to believe that Daisy would resent the idea so much.”

Angela shrugs. “Well, maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe we’ve got it wrong and she just didn’t sleep well. But we’re going to have to be so careful Emmett.” She starts gathering up the discarded pyjamas, not looking at me as she says, “I’ve had feelings for you for…a long time. I know what I want. But the situation is complicated and we’re going to have to take our time to really figure things out.”

“So my idea of giving the kids candy and an episode of Sesame Street to keep them busy while I take you back to bed isn’t really going to fly?” I ask lightly, raising an eyebrow.

Angela sputters with sudden laughter. “Uh yeah…not going to happen, sorry!”

“Sesame Street?” Bram asks eagerly, handing me the remote. “Big Bird now?”

“Sure.” I switch on the tv and cue up an episode, then say to Angela, “I really was just kidding. I mean…okay, I want to! But I know you just lost your mom, there’s a lot going on here, and I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

Angela nods. “Last night, with you being there for me….it meant a lot. But I really don’t want anyone to get hurt here, and there’s more than just you and I to consider.”

___________________________________________

Daisy’s gymnastics class still has a few minutes to run when I get there that evening, and I lean against the wall with the other parents and watch them. When Diana dismisses them the other girls all flock to their parents or the locker room, but Daisy hops up on the low beam and starts practising her walkovers. I head on over.

“Hey Daisy-bug,” I say. “Time to go.”

She turns herself upside down onto her hands, and walks along the beam. She doesn’t even answer me, and I feel a flicker of irritation. “Come on. You need to get changed so we can go home for dinner.”

Daisy lowers herself into a split, turning her back to me, and I’ve had enough. “Daisy Jade! If I’ve done something to upset you you’re going to have to use your words and tell me, because I’m not a mind reader and I’d like to know why you’re acting this way!”

“I know that Angela stayed over last night! I know what you were doing!” Daisy scrambles to her feet and glares at me, her face mottled red, before she drops her eyes and mumbles, “And I think it’s _disgusting.”_

A couple of heads turn, and nearby Daisy’s coach Diana is suddenly very busy checking the mats under the high beams and _not_ looking at me. I feel my ears burning. _Fucking hell._ “Well okay then, we can talk about that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Daisy does her acro combination and dismounts, landing with a defiant thump. “I’m going to get changed.” She marches off towards the locker room.

Ten minutes later I’ve watched her entire class come out in street clothes but there’s still no Daisy. Frustrated, I approach a group of moms watching their kids in the next session. “Hi, can someone just stick a head into the locker room and tell me if it’s all right for me to go in? My daughter’s in there, but I can’t walk in on anyone else getting changed.”

Fortunately someone’s willing to help me out, coming out from the locker room a moment later with a sympathetic smile. “Blonde ponytail and tears? Is that who you’re looking for? She’s on her own in there.”

“Thanks.” I swing open the door.

Daisy’s dressed, sitting on a bench and staring at her feet. She’s quick to wipe away the tell-tale traces of tears on her face and doesn’t speak, but at least she lets me sit down beside her.

“I’m sorry you’re upset,” I say at last. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Is she…are you and Angela…” Daisy flounders. “Do you do that all the time? Since _when?_ ”

“No, we don’t. Angela came over last night because she was really sad after her mom’s funeral and didn’t want to be alone. That’s pretty much what it was.” I hesitate for a moment, and then say slowly, “But the thing is Daisy, if it _wasn’t_ …it would still be okay. It’s not up to you to tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m an adult, and I’m allowed to date. I’m allowed to see people, like maybe Angela, if I want to. I am allowed to…to have a relationship, if that’s what happened.”

“But what about Mom?” Daisy’s voice quivers.

“Mom’s gone,” I say softly. “And we have to live our lives without her…”

“But if you really loved her, how could you want anyone else?” Daisy cries out. “How could anyone else ever be as good?”

“ _IF_ I really loved her…?” My voice trails away. I take a deep breath and gently tip Daisy’s face towards me so she’s looking at me. “I’m going to talk to you like you’re a big girl, okay? Because I think you can understand this. There is one thing you have to know, really know right down in your own heart – _I loved your mom._ I loved her from the very first moment I saw her, I loved her in some huge, crazy way that felt bigger than the world. And that never went away. For almost twenty years, she was my whole heart.” I shake my head and half smile, remembering the brilliant, all-encompassing feeling of loving Rosalie. “God Daisy, I just hope that one day you are lucky enough to love someone and be loved the way your mom and I loved each other…because that love was one of the strongest and best and most real things I’ve ever had. Do you believe that?”

Daisy nods almost imperceptibly, and I swipe my thumbs across the tears streaking her cheeks.

“That’s good, because it’s true and I don’t ever want you to doubt that. I loved your mom. I always will. But love is a funny thing, because there’s always room for more. It’s like…like when you were born, we loved you. Couldn’t have loved anything more than we loved our baby girl, and loved being your mom and dad. But then two years later Mac and Noah came along, and we loved them too. Loved them as much as we loved you, and we didn’t love you any less. We didn’t take away from what we felt for you to give it to them, it’s just that somehow there was more love to go around. Same again when Bram and Zeke were born, and then Holly too – I love all of you, absolutely and fully and completely. You with me on that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, I think that maybe it’s going to be kind of like that if – when – I ever fall in love again, you know? It won’t mean that I loved your mom any less. It won’t mean that what I had with her was any less real, any less meaningful, any less beautiful…all it will mean is that she’s gone, and I have room for more.” My eyes feel suddenly hot with tears that I blink back before they can fall. “Nothing can ever take away how much I loved your mom, and how happy I was being in love with her. And maybe that’s…maybe I think one day I might fall in love again _because_ I was so happy with your mom. I loved being married to my best friend, and sometimes I’m not sure I want to live the rest of my life without that. I know I seem like an old man to you, but I’m really not! If I could have someone else, someone else I loved…I’m allowed to want that.”

Daisy is crying again, but this time she lets me hug her and I lift her on to my lap and kiss her forehead. “I know I said it’s not up to you to tell me what I can and can’t do. And it’s not. But I also want to promise you that I am always going to listen to how you feel and really think about how what I do affects you and your brothers and sister. You guys are my number one priority. Always. Nothing is more important to me than doing the right thing by you, and nothing and no one is going to change that. Okay? No wicked stepmothers, ever, I promise.”

Daisy giggles tearfully, “I don’t think Angela could ever be a wicked stepmother.”

I squeeze her tight. “I don’t either. Think about it though, the first time round I picked your mom- you’ve got to have some faith that I could make a good choice!” I set her on her feet and stand up too. “I know that it can feel weird when things change, and if I ever started seeing anyone that would be a really big change. But sometimes change can be a good thing too…even if it feels hard or scary, sometimes it’s what we need.”


	54. Exactly What You Are

The next few weeks feel like we’re in a holding pattern. Angela is grieving her mom hard, and I know she doesn’t have it in her right now to deal with my feelings for her and whatever it is she feels for me. I’m there for her when she needs me, listening to her talk and hugging her when she cries, but I don’t push for anything else. I just wait, sure of what I feel, and hopeful about what might happen in time.

I’ve never been a patient person before. Impulsive, eager, even reckless…I’ve never been that good at waiting. Yet somehow this feels different. I am unequivocal in what I feel for Angela and unshakeable in my belief that we should be together and that we just have to figure out a way to make things work. But I am also prepared to let it grow slowly, to take our time to name and understand what it is between us and what we will shape it to become.

As I contemplate this newfound patience, it occurs to me for the first time that maybe not all of the changes Rosalie’s death and the subsequent grief have wrought in me are negative. I have a clearer sense of what truly matters to me and a deeper appreciation of what I already have. In losing so much, maybe I found a few things too.

It helps that we’re busy. Life with six kids is _always_ busy, but January throws a few curveballs at us anyway. Firstly, the heating in Angela’s house breaks down and then her downstairs plumbing springs a catastrophic leak, so she misses a few more days of work while she deals with contractors and insurance assessors.

Then Daisy, who regularly does death defying tricks several feet up in the air at gymnastics lessons, somehow manages to trip over a jump rope at school recess and sprain her wrist. She can’t train for a little while so she’s home after school every day, and then we have to fit in a couple of physio appointments to make sure she rehabs it safely.

Daisy’s just about back to normal when Noah, who had a mild reaction to lobster as a toddler and hasn’t consumed it since, eats a shellfish-tainted fish stick in the cafeteria and has to be rushed to hospital in an ambulance when he immediately breaks out in hives and his face starts swelling. Turns out his allergy is a little more serious than we thought, and we have to learn to use an EpiPen and start to keep one with us. Noah enjoys the fuss made over him in hospital, but is horrified at the idea of the autoinjector and surprisingly devastated over not being allowed to eat school cafeteria fish sticks anymore.

In the middle of this the three littles ones all catch RSV at baby gym. Bram and Zeke have nothing more than a runny nose and a low-grade fever for a day or two, but Holly has a bad case that results in ear infections and bacterial pneumonia. Multiple trips to the paediatrician and a course of antibiotics eventually sees her on the mend, but I spend the better part of two weeks with a feverish, wheezing and unhappy baby in my arms every minute I’m at home. I’m so thankful for the health insurance that one night, in an exhausted delirium, I even send thank you flowers to Rosalie’s dad. None of this is very conducive towards making any headway with a romantic relationship, and for the time being it’s on the backburner.

Still, I can’t help but feel a flare of pleasure when I get home late one evening after work to find Angela unexpectedly still at my house. She and Esme are on the sofa, Holly asleep in Esme’s arms, the two of them flipping through Pinterest on the iPad and deep in discussion about paint colours and interior decorating.

“Hey,” I say. “How did the day go? How’s Jellybean?”

“Feeling a little better, I think,” Angela says. “Still coughing a lot, but she ate a pretty reasonable dinner so that’s good. Bram and Zeke are _completely_ recovered, if their antics at bedtime are any indication! And Daisy said she did all her routines at gymnastics and her wrist didn’t hurt at all, so I think that’s probably behind us now too. Noah asked twice if his dinner had shellfish in it – I had to assure him that homemade chicken noodle soup _really_ doesn’t pose a risk to him.” She grins at me. “Hopefully his anxiety over that eases off soon!”

I laugh. “Poor kiddo. And did we ever imagine the day when _Mac_ is the one kid we’re not worrying about?!”

Esme chuckles. “He had a good afternoon. And his reading has improved tremendously, I’m so impressed with him! He must be trying so hard.”

“He really is,” I say. “And it’s starting to build on itself, because he can see that he’s improving and that motivates him more. Angie found some good books for him too, lots of short bits of writing and little comics that he really likes.” I look down at the iPad. “Are you planning on redecorating?”

“I’m ready to paint the house and freshen it up for sale,” Angela says. “I was just asking Esme about colours.”

“Let me know if you need an assistant,” I say lightly. “I’m an experienced painter and I’ll work cheap.”

Angela smiles at me. “Thanks, but I somehow think that the six children crew that would accompany you would be more trouble than any amount of help you could provide!”

“Carlisle and I could babysit for the day on Saturday,” Esme offers. “We’d be more than happy to do it; Carlisle was complaining just last night that the only time he’s seen the children recently has been in the hospital!”

“We’ve certainly had a run there,” I say. “What do you think, Angie? Want me to help?”

“That would be amazing. Thank you.” Angela grins at Esme, and then glances across at the clock. “I didn’t realise how late it is, I need to go home and go to bed.”

“I’ll walk you out.” I follow Angela out the front, pausing on the bottom step of the porch. “You all right?”

She looks up at me. “Yes, just tired. Thanks for offering to help with the painting, the two of us will probably make a bit more progress than I would on my own.”

“Any time.” I can’t stop myself from reaching out and curving my hand around her face. “Maybe we can talk a bit too.”

Angela smiles at me in a way that makes my stomach flip. “That might be good.”

I’m grinning when I go back inside and flop down on the sofa beside Esme. “Thanks for helping out tonight.”

“You know I enjoy it. I love being involved with the children, and Angela and I have had a good time discussing her plans for the house. She should get a good price for it once she’s done a little work, it’s a lovely family home.” Esme smiles at me, perhaps a little _too_ innocently. “I always enjoy spending time with her when I take over for you here, she and I have a lot in common and I feel like we’re quite good friends. I really don’t know what we’d all be doing without her now!”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Have you been talking to Alice?”

“I do talk to my daughter occasionally, yes,” Esme says airily, before she breaks down in laughter. “Emmett sweetheart, I’m not saying a word!”

“Good - don’t!” I roll my eyes, but I’m not really annoyed.

Esme looks at me a little anxiously. “Please don’t think Alice and I have been gossiping about you. Your private life is your own, and I’ve told Alice she must keep her opinions to herself! But we’re both so happy to see you looking brighter again.” She pats my leg. “Watching you hurt has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do as a mother. Seeing you finding your feet again, finding a new kind of normal with the children, finding a way to move forward…I’m so proud of you. All I want is for you to be happy.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as Holly stirs on Esme’s lap and breaks into a hacking cough. She cries, stretching her arms out towards me and I slide her from Esme’s lap on to mine, rubbing her back until the coughing fit eases. I love the way she always wants me. “Poor baby girl.” I look across at Esme. “And…thank you. I would never have got through this without you and Carlisle. I still sometimes can’t believe my luck that you basically picked me up at the church food pantry and now you’re my mom.”

“Well as we said to you back then, there are all kinds of ways of making a family,” Esme says lightly. “All that really matters is the love.”

_________________________________________

Esme and Carlisle turn up bright and early at my place on Saturday morning, so I leave the kids in their capable hands and head off to Angela’s house.

“Hey,” I say as she greets me at the door. “I bought you coffee.”

“Thanks.” Angela accepts the cup with a yawn and steps aside. “I think I need it. Come on in.”

For a moment, as I brush past her, I’m acutely conscious of the absence of the kids. Angela and I, alone…I swallow hard and look around the lower floor, forcing my mind back to home renovation. “So, where did you want to start?”

Angela leads the way into the living room. What furniture remains is pushed away from the walls and shrouded in drop cloths, and there’s a collection of paint cans, rollers and brushes on the floor by the door. “I thought we’d start in here; I’ve prepped the surfaces and taped the trim so we’re ready to go. We can move on to the hallway and the other downstairs rooms if we have time.”

“Great. Do you have more cloths to cover the floor?” I find ceiling paint and prise the lid off.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m going to pull up the carpets in these downstairs rooms so it doesn’t matter what happens to them.” Angela starts stirring the paint. “There are hardwoods underneath, and I think floorboards and a fresh coat of paint should make it look pretty good. I mean there’s nothing I can do about the kitchen or the bathrooms – and my parents didn’t touch those rooms for the past thirty years – but if I do the floors and paint then at least it should be easy enough for a buyer to see the potential.”

“I think it’s a good house,” I say, rolling up my sleeves. “I like old houses; my great grandfather built my house.”

We get to work. It’s a boring job painting ceilings and walls, but it’s not difficult and it makes a pretty big difference. And it’s nice just to be hanging out with Angela. The time passes quicker than I would have thought, and I’m surprised when my stomach starts rumbling to realise that it’s already early afternoon.

“Sorry, we should eat lunch!” Angela obviously hears my belly. “If you want to wash up I’ll get it ready.”

I wash the rollers and brushes and leave them in the laundry room before I wander back to the kitchen. Angela is putting together some sandwiches, so I sit down at the table and pick up a little pile of photographs I find there. I laugh, recognising an elementary aged Rosalie and Angela in the first one. “Hey, what was this?”

“That was our fifth grade play…I found a bunch of pictures from school that had Rosalie or Edward in them, so I put them aside so I could show the kids,” Angela says.

I laugh harder when I see an extremely awkward Edward, who must be all of thirteen years old, in music class with Angela. “These are great. Daisy will love them.” I flip through the rest. “So funny to think you guys all knew each other at Camden way back then. Fifth grade…I was probably beating kids up at the public school then; it was a pretty bad year for me.”

Angela passes me across a sandwich. “I have a hard time imagining you being the kid that beats the others up.”

“Imagine Mac’s impulsiveness, Zeke’s hair-trigger temper, and a whole lot more rage,” I say lightly. I put the photographs down and start eating. “I really like that you knew Rosalie, and that you can talk to the kids about her and let me talk about her too. At the same time, I kind of like that you weren’t close friends with her.”

Angela looks at me questioningly.

“It makes it easier, that her death doesn’t hurt you,” I say. “It means that I don’t have to…manage your feelings alongside mine. The rest of my family, they loved her too. Carlisle was there when she was born, he and Esme and Edward all knew her for years before they even met me! Alice grew up almost her whole life with Rosalie as her big sister. So when she died, they all lost her too. As much as they were there for me, they all had their own personal grief to deal with too, and sometimes that felt like something I had to carry too.” I eat a couple more bites and then say a little slowly, “And with you…I think I’d feel a lot more weird about trying to…whatever I want to do with you!...if you and Rosalie had been friends.” I shove a giant bite of sandwich in my mouth before I can keep babbling, feeling my face go red.

But Angela just smiles a little, her cheeks going a little pink as she asks, “I suppose that leads in to the question…what do you want to do with me?”

The air feels charged, but I take my time chewing and swallowing before putting down the sandwich and looking at her. “Okay then. Time for this?”

Angela nods.

“I love you,” I say simply. “I said it that night, and I meant it. I love you, and I want to be with you and make a life with you. That’s it.” I take another bite. “Your turn.”

“I love you too.” Angela blurts out. “And I want…gosh, I want _everything_ with you. But I’m also really, really scared.”

“What is it that scares you?”

“That the children get hurt,” she says. “That we get hurt. That we try this out and it doesn’t work, and I lose you and your family and the children lose the stability they have now. Because if we take this step, we’re never going to be able to go back to the way things are.”

“It’s a risk,” I say quietly. “And we will have to work out the best way to go about it, because the kids and I are all part of the same deal. It’s the hard thing about it - there’s really no way for the two of us to just date casually and see how things go. Because of the circumstances we can’t even start something without considering how it might end – we have to be really mindful of what we’re actually deciding, and the potential fallout for everyone. Because for you, a relationship with me is a relationship with them too…I know what I’m asking of you.”

“I love them. I’m not afraid of taking them on alongside you – it would be a joy, the most unimaginable bonus of falling in love with you.” She blushes fiercely. “But I can’t say I’m not afraid of losing them if it all goes wrong.”

“I know that I’m asking you to put your heart on the line in more ways than one,” I say. “I know the risks, and I know that you stand to lose more than me if we try this out and it doesn’t work. But there’s so much to gain too! I get you, the kids get you, you get us…all of us could make a family and that would be amazing. And while I don’t want to drag out the dead wife card here, I can’t get away from it…I know all too well how fucking fleeting life can be, and I don’t want to miss a moment of something wonderful with you because we’re afraid of what _might_ happen.”

“There is your dead wife though,” Angela says quietly. “Rosalie. I know at this point in our lives we’re both coming into this with a whole lot of past relationship baggage, it’s just the nature of it. I’ve got Patrick, my college boyfriend Ryan, even Ben back in high school.” For a moment Angela grins, but then her smile fades. “But you have Rosalie. A relationship that lasted nearly twenty years and that you lost only through death. And I might not have seen the two of you together after high school, but I saw the aftermath of losing her…I know how you loved her. I know what the two of you were to each other. How can I ever live up to that?”

“You don’t have to live up to that,” I say, trying to find the right words. “Not because you can’t…but because what I feel for you, what I think about when I think about the two of us together, is something so different, so unique, that I can’t compare them.” For a moment I feel my teeth against my knuckles, and I realise how badly I don’t want to mess this up. “I loved her,” I say at last. “I loved Rosalie with my whole fucking heart, because that’s how I love people. And if she hadn’t died…but she did. And that changed me. She’s gone and I’m still here, and you’re here and I love you too. I had almost twenty years with Rosalie, and now I want just as many years with you. I want you, and us, and what we are together…and I don’t ever want you to think that you have to be anything other than exactly what you are.”


	55. Dealbreaker

I see the tension in Angela’s shoulders relax, and then she smiles in a way that makes my heart jump. “You want twenty years with me?”

“At least.” I grin at her. “I know what I said about needing to think about how it might end and I’m not going back on that, but I’m also pretty fucking confident about how I feel here. You and I – we belong together now.”

“It’s not just because of the children though?” Angela looks suddenly vulnerable. “It’s not just because they like me and I’m already there and it would be convenient?”

I’m quick to shake my head. “No. I mean, you are great with them and I definitely love that about you. It would be a dealbreaker if you weren’t, but it’s not the reason I love you. Truth is I’m being selfish here; I want you for _me._ As I said, I think you and I belong together. And that might sound like a big call when we’ve never actually been together, but it’s not like you’re someone I just picked up in a bar! I _know_ you. You’ve been a huge part of my life for over a year now; you’ve been there while I grieved and while I put myself back together again, while I stressed about the kids and figured out what to do with them and celebrated all their milestones. You’ve already seen me happy, and mad, and bawling and anxious and sick and everything else. You know what I like to eat, we’ve gone on vacation together, you’ve let me tattoo you, we’ve built flatpack furniture together…you’ve even washed my underwear even though you don’t have to!”

Angela laughs, and I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “And I know those things about you too. Seriously, you’re an amazing friend and without even meaning to we’ve built this solid basis for where I want to go next.”

She smiles and strokes my hand, her thumb passing over the now almost unnoticeable dip on my finger where I used to wear my wedding ring. “You make me really happy,” she says, softly. “And for all I’m scared, the idea of being with you just feels so natural and right and good…I think we have to give it a chance.”

“That’s all I need. A chance.” I grin at her, and then we’re both kind of smiling at each other in the dumbest way, laughing as my stomach audibly rumbles again and Angela pushes my plate back towards me and tells me to eat.

After lunch we go back to the living room. I think we both have every intention of painting again, but as we enter the room she brushes past me and the faint touch of her arm against mine makes me burn. I can’t stop myself from reaching out and wrapping my arms around her, bringing her close enough to tilt her face up to mine so I can kiss her.

_Oh sweet hell…yes._

There are no sleeping children here. No grief or sorrow, no baby monitor crackling into life and reminding me of responsibilities, no uncertainty or hesitation or questions about what any of this means. There is just Angela and I, and I take her down on to the drop cloth shrouded sofa and surround myself with her.

The intensity of it rocks me. This is not the ‘just one night’ that I had with Lainey. Kissing Angela, touching her…there is a strength and tenderness and depth of passion here that makes it all feel like so much more.

It could be hours that I spend kissing her, it could be minutes – it’s impossible to tell. All I know is how good it is, how much I want her, how I never want it to end.

Angela turns kind of shy once the clothes start coming off, which is something I’ve never had to deal with. It kind of throws me off, and after a few moments I find myself pulling back a little, ducking my face to look into her eyes. “Are you okay? Am I going too fast here? Talk to me.”

Angela squirms a little on my lap. Neither of us have shirts on, and she brings her arms up to cover her breasts as she leans her face into my shoulder. “No, it’s not that.”

I run my hands down the length of her back, kissing the side of her neck. “What then? Because I feel like I’m doing something wrong here, and sweetheart I do not want to do a single thing that makes you unhappy.” I cup my hands around her face and kiss her again.

I can feel the heat in her cheeks, but she smiles at me and bumps her forehead against mine. “It’s embarrassing, and I know I shouldn’t but…it’s not just your relationship with Rosalie that makes me feel intimidated. She was…I mean, I don’t look anything like that and…it feels like kind of an impossible standard to follow, and I don’t want you to be…disappointed…or think that I’m not good enough or…”

For a moment I just look at her bemusedly. Disappointed? _Not good enough?_ With the heart that she’s opening up to me and the body that she’s letting me hold? How could she even think that?

“Sweetheart, you need to put that thought right out of your head,” I say gently. “I am not comparing here. Rosalie was Rosalie, but you are you, and you’re pretty damn beautiful.” I nuzzle into her neck and half laugh. “And come on…you’re sitting on my lap. It’s going to kind of hurt my feelings if you haven’t noticed how much you turn me on.” I am rock hard, and the paint covered athletic shorts I’m wearing aren’t doing a damn thing to hide it.

“Oh, I noticed!” Angela’s face goes bright red, and she buries her face in my neck with a giggle.

I love the way she blushes. I laugh too, and let myself slide backwards further down onto the sofa, until I’m lying on my back with Angela sprawled over me. “I love you,” I say against her mouth as I kiss her again. “I think you’re beautiful, and I want you so much. I really, really do…but there’s one other thing we haven’t talked about yet.”

“What’s that?” Angela squirms down until she’s lying beside me, her hand on the roses over my heart.

“Birth control,” I say, my stomach suddenly feeling tight. “I think we have to deal with that straight out before we go any further. Because I want to strip off the rest of your clothes right now, but that kind of thing sometimes has consequences! And that’s something that…I can’t do that. No babies.”

“Ah.” Angela fingertips tap my chest lightly in the same rhythm as my heart. “No babies. Ever?”

“No.” I stroke Angela’s side, and the thought of her belly round with my baby rises up in my mind and I can barely breathe for the terror it arouses. Belly and birth and blood…no. “I’ll understand if this is a dealbreaker for you; I know you’ve always wanted more kids. But I can’t ever do that again.”

Angela’s quiet for a long time, her head nestled down on my shoulder so I can’t see her face. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed by that,” she says finally, her voice soft.

“I’m sorry,” I say bleakly. “I am…I know it’s not fair of me to just lay it down like that, as absolutely not negotiable. Relationships should be about agreement and compromise. But there’s no compromise on having kids, it’s either you do or you don’t, and I can’t. Won’t. On a practical level it’s just…I have six kids already. I can’t afford more! Not in money and not in time – the kids I already have see the doctor now and will go to college later on Jack’s dime, and I couldn’t provide that for another one in a million years. I’d need to buy a freaking passenger van or bus or something if I had to try and fit in another carseat, and the grocery bills are already insane – imagine what I’ll be facing when they’re teenagers?!”

Angela laughs gently. “I remember the way my brothers ate when they were teenagers; you’re definitely going to be one of the grocery store’s best customers.”

“It’s not just money though,” I say. “It’s time, and being the dad that I want to be to them. Kids need a lot, and I don’t want to short change them. I couldn’t help it that Bram and Zeke turned into twins, and I had no idea that Holly was even possible or we would have prevented that, but it’s a tough balancing act sometimes to give them all the love and support and attention that they need. I don’t think I could do it for more.” I stare up at the ceiling, feeling wretched. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I know this might be a dealbreaker for you and…I want you to be really honest about that. Because I love you and I want you to be happy, and I will understand if that means it won’t be with me.”

“It’s not a dealbreaker,” Angela says at last. “I know I’ve told you that I wanted to have more kids and I can’t say it’s not a little bit sad that it’s not even a possibility with you. But you _do_ have six kids that are already here, and they have to come before any maybe baby that we might have considered if things were different.”

“I love you,” I say hoarsely. “And I love what you just said, but I want you to be sure so please, please think about it. Because this absolutely is a dealbreaker for me, I’m sorry but it is. I’m not going to change my mind, there can’t be any accidents…we just can’t. I was booked in to get snipped after Holly was born and I didn’t end up doing it, for obvious reasons, but I will call the urologist and set that up again as soon as I can. That’s how serious I am about _never._ For all the reasons I already said, but also because…I can’t see you pregnant. I couldn’t spend nine months thinking you’re going to die and then go into a birth where anything could happen…I can’t risk losing you like that. I know that’s not rational, but it would be…too much. I can’t, and I’m sorry, but that’s the bare truth of it.”

“Oh, Emmett.” Angela arches her neck and looks me in the eye. “I love you, and I want to be with you, and if that means being a second mother to your kids and not to my own biological baby, then I’m okay with that.”

_God, how did I get so lucky?_

“I love you.” I kiss her again, slow and deep, and lose myself in the pleasure of being with her. I take my time, exploring the shape and feel of her, getting to know the way she kisses, learning how she responds to my touch. Telling her again and again, in words and in action, that I love her and want her and that together is how we belong.

“I think we need to stop now,” Angela whispers into my neck, as I sprawl over her. Her hand runs down the length of my back, and I groan lightly as my skin ripples.

“Do we?” I kiss her again, unable to resist the sight of her full, parted lips and the flush of pink on her cheeks.

“Mmmm…yes.”

“You don’t make that very easy,” I murmur, a hand on her thigh as I grind against her. “I don’t know that _stop_ is anywhere near as appealing as _keep going._ ”

“It’s definitely not!” Angela gives me a half embarrassed smile. “But I’m not actually on any birth control, and we can’t take any chances. I got pregnant with Micah the first month we tried, so I don’t want to risk it.”

For a moment I bury my face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. _Thank you for understanding how I feel about that._ With a sigh I reluctantly drag myself away and sit up. “First month, huh? I can’t even imagine. I can buy some condoms for next time, if that works for you?”

“Yes, fine.” Angela reaches for her t-shirt. “I always just took the pill, I can make an appointment at Planned Parenthood and go back on that.”

I reach out and stroke the side of her face. “I really do love you. And as much as I might rather be doing what we’ve been doing on this sofa for the past hour…do you want me to finish painting this room before I have to go home?”

________________________________________

“Thanks so much for today.” I hand Esme and Carlisle mugs of tea, and then flop wearily down in the recliner. I can hear Bram and Zeke giggling in their bedroom, but all the other kids seem to be quietly in bed.

“It was our pleasure.” Carlisle yawns and then grins at me. “They certainly kept us on our toes!”

“Did you get much done?” Esme asks.

For a moment I think she’s asking about something other than painting and my ears burn. “Oh…yeah. The living room is finished, it’s going to look good.”

“Hopefully she’ll get a good price for it once she sells,” Esme says.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” I ask abruptly.

Esme looks surprised. “Of course.”

“Your baby died, and then you married Carlisle and adopted Edward, and later me and Alice. I know you love us, I’m not asking that, but I guess I was wondering if you ever…did you ever regret not having another baby of your own?” For a moment I feel my teeth against my knuckles.

Esme’s whole face softens, and I know she knows why I’m asking. “I didn’t regret it. I’ve never felt like there was anything missing from my life.” She sips her tea and goes on thoughtfully. “I might have liked to have had another baby, in the same way I might have liked to have been a teacher, or an architect, or a gardener…an alternate life that I _could_ have had, and enjoyed, but that I didn’t. As it is, I love my life, I love the children I was lucky enough to be mother too, and I adore my grandchildren. The biological relationship, or lack of it, has never made any difference.”

Carlisle raises his eyebrows at me. “So if you’re asking these questions, does this mean…?”

“Oh hush!” Esme nudges him playfully with her shoulder. “Emmett will tell us when there’s something to tell!” She winks at me, and I laugh, feeling a bright bubble of happiness filling up my chest.

“Yes, okay! Angela and I are…oh, I don’t know! Something.” I shrug, not able to stop the goofy grin on my face. “But there are things to think about, and that’s a big one. I don’t want her to miss out on anything, and that feels like a very big thing to give up, you know?”

“It could be,” Esme acknowledges. “But I’m assuming you’ve discussed it?”

“Yeah, we have. But it’s difficult because it’s not really much of a discussion, you know? There’s no compromise – we either have a baby or we don’t, and I’m on the ‘no’ side.” I bite my knuckles. “She says it’s okay, but I guess I don’t want her to regret it later, or resent the kids, or resent me for making her give up the possibility.”

“There are never any guarantees, but Angela is a sensible person and I’m sure she’ll think it through and make the right decision for herself,” Esme says. “I think you can trust her to know her own heart. She also wouldn’t be giving up motherhood altogether either, not to be with you. Not when there are six little ones in the family who don’t have their mother anymore.”

“I guess I worry about that a bit too,” I say. “Basically having to do all the work, and yet always living in the shadow of a ghost. That’s going to be hard…but I suppose you did that too, didn’t you? With Edward’s sainted mother anyway; my momma was such a fuck up you hardly had to worry about doing worse.”

Esme laughs gently. “I always felt a little comforted by the ghosts. As though you all had a little extra protection, an extra eye watching over you and wishing you well.” She smiles at me. “It was sometimes hard to be the second mother, I’ll say that honestly. I love you like my own, but I always had to respect the fact that you had a mother before me and I can’t take her place. What I always tried to do was to make my own place in your lives. I had to learn to really cherish the unique and special relationship we had because of our particular circumstances.” She hesitates for a moment. “Angela – or anyone you choose to become involved with – is going to have to deal with the reality of coming after Rosalie, and cope with the challenge of making a family with you and six children. Sometimes that’s going to be hard. You’re going to have to be very supportive, and offer a lot of love and reassurance. But I really do believe you’ll be fine, and I wish you nothing but happiness.”

I half smile around the fist at my mouth. “So you think it’s…okay? Me and Angela? I mean, I know I don’t need your approval and I’m not asking for it, but…”

“But you have it anyway,” Carlisle finishes for me. “I would caution you to be careful and give everything a lot of thought, but I trust you absolutely to make the right choices for yourself and your children.”

“Good. Thank you.” I relax, dropping my hands. “Don’t say anything about this though, will you? It’s really new and, as you said, we really want to be careful about how we go. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Not until we’re sure about what we’re doing, and until we know how we’re going to handle it in terms of the kids. There’s still a lot to work out.”

“We won’t say a word,” Esme promises. “But Emmett…I think everyone is going to be happy for you. We’ve all watched your heartbreak, and no one is going to begrudge you finding happiness again.”


	56. Another Mother?

_This is how we belong._

It’s easy, in so many ways, for Angela and I to slip into our new relationship. It’s built on such a solid basis of friendship that all we’re really doing is adding to it. Kisses when she arrives, a new physical closeness as we move through the usual dinner, homework, bedtime routine, more time spent talking together after the kids have gone to bed and we’re alone. Making out on the sofa, one ear open for the kids, in a way that’s weirdly reminiscent of being a teenager making out and half listening for parents walking in! Every minute I spend with her strengthens my conviction that the two of us together make something good.

I don’t leave it very long before I talk to Daisy about Angela. She’s the oldest and the most observant, and after the previous occasion she caught Angela staying over I know she’s watching me. So a couple of days later I head into her room to say goodnight and stretch out on the end of her bed.

“What are you reading?”

“Another pony book.” Daisy shows me the cover, where a horse with an evil expression is staring out at me from behind multiple rosettes pinned to its head. “Angela’s mom had the best collection.”

“Angela told me her mom used to ride horses.” I take the book and put it on Daisy’s bedside table. “I wanted to talk to you about Angela actually, if that’s okay.”

“Okay.” Daisy tucks her stuffed narwhal, a blue and purple striped tiger, a penguin wearing a scarf, and a Cabbage Patch kid into the bed beside her.

I hesitate for a moment, suddenly not even sure how to start. This feels so awkward! Of all the things I thought I might have to do as a dad, navigating a whole new romantic relationship with my kids alongside me was not one of them.

“It’s really about me and Angela,” I say at last. “You might have noticed that things between us have been a bit…different lately?”

“I saw you kissing her goodbye out by her car the other night,” Daisy says candidly.

I frown at her. “You shouldn’t spy on people,” I say, and she shrugs a little sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just going to wave goodbye to her like I sometimes do, but you were out there too.”

“Oh. Well, sorry you saw that.” I curse inwardly. And here I’d thought I’d been _so_ careful! “I mean, I wanted to talk to you about it all before you noticed anything, so that you wouldn’t worry.”

“It’s all right.” Daisy plays with the Cabbage Patch Kid’s yarn braids. “I mean, after she stayed over that one time and we talked about stuff I thought you were probably going to get a girlfriend and at least Angela’s nice and we already know her.”

“You’re not upset? It doesn’t worry you?”

Daisy shrugs again. “I like Angela a lot.” She chews her lip and then says a little reluctantly, “But I don’t know…is it going to change everything? I mean, right now Angela’s like my friend but if you and her are…whatever, does that mean that she’s really just here for you all the time? And like…are you going to get married, or will she live here or what?” Daisy’s voice shakes, and I reach across the bed to hold her little hand in mine.

“Angela will always be your friend,” I say. “That’s something you can absolutely count on. Looking after you and your brothers and sister is her job, but she loves you all a lot too. No matter what happens, Angela is always going to be your friend. You know, she still emails and calls all the other kids she used to nanny for, and they’re all older than you now.”

Daisy smiles, and I squeeze her hand and go on. “For right now, nothing too much is going to change in your life. Angela’s still going to be here every day looking after you guys while I’m at work, she’s going to be here to help with dinner and homework and bath time and bedtime in the evenings just like always. She and I will probably want to hang out together a bit more so she might stay later, or even stay over. Maybe she’ll be here on the weekends a bit now? It won’t be a big deal though.”

Daisy looks across at the photograph of herself and Rosalie on her bedside table. “If Angela’s going to be your girlfriend, does that mean we should put away all the pictures of Mom?”

I’m quick to shake my head. “No. Angela would never want you to do that – your mom is your mom, and nothing will change that.” I pause. “Well, maybe I’ll take down the wedding photo that hangs over the fireplace one day. But that’s kind of different…your picture in here, and all the family photos in the living room, they’ll all stay. Mommy was amazing and beautiful and you all loved each other so much, we’re never going to try and hide that or downplay it.”

“All your family photos are with Grandma,” Daisy says. “You don’t have any with your first mother, the one who died.”

“There are pictures,” I say slowly. I very rarely talk about my mother, and I’ve never told the kids about my abusive childhood. “In the closet in the study – I can show you if you want. I don’t have them out though because…my momma wasn’t like your mom. She had a lot of problems. My life with her was pretty difficult when I was a kid, and I don’t really want photos out reminding me of that all the time. It’s really different to the way it is for you guys with Mom.”

I can see Daisy thinking it over. “Do you love Angela? Do you think you’ll get married?”

“I do love her,” I say slowly, feeling the heat in my face. “I think she’s pretty amazing, and I really want to be with her. This is serious – I wouldn’t be telling you about it if it wasn’t.” I give her a lopsided smile. “But getting married isn’t something we’re thinking about yet. Angela and I have to see how this works – both for us as a couple, and for us as a whole family.”

“Does she _want_ to be our mom?” Daisy asks.

“You’re asking all the hard questions!” I squeeze her hand. “Angela does love you all. I couldn’t ever get involved with someone who didn’t want to be part of a family with you, because you kids come first for me.” I can’t help but notice Daisy’s eyes brimming over with tears, and I shove aside a million stuffed animals so I can lie down next to her and pull her into a hug. “What is it, little bug?”

“I really like Angela,” she whispers. “I can’t think of anyone nicer to be your girlfriend and be part of our family. She’s so nice and funny and she shares all her pony books with me and never gets mad, even when the little twins are total brats. I can talk to her about everything and I really love her being my friend but…I don’t want that to change. I don’t want another mother who’s going to leave me.”

She cries then, and tighten my arms around her and kiss her head, my heart aching as I realise what I’ve never seen so clearly before. Daisy’s adopted, and losing Rosalie was the second time she’s lost a mother.

“Oh, baby girl, shhh…I love you. _They_ loved you. Rosalie – Mommy – she would never have chosen to leave you. She would have done anything to stay Daisy, she would have…she loved you so much.” I stop for a moment, my throat tight. “And Alice…she didn’t leave you. She loved you so much that she grew you in her belly and gave birth to you, and then she gave you to me and Rosalie because she wanted the best life possible for you, and she didn’t think she could give you that. She didn’t abandon you…”

How do I explain that kind of love to my hurting nine year old daughter? How do I help her see the strength and depth of love that it had taken Alice to hold Daisy’s life inside her for all those months and then let her go? And then I remember.

“Wait here.” I kiss Daisy’s forehead and clamber awkwardly out of her bed, sending multiple stuffed animals to the floor in my wake. “I want to show you something.”

It doesn’t take me long. In Daisy’s memory box in the basement, alongside her hospital bracelet and her first outfit, her baby handprints and birth announcement, underneath the jumble of cards and artwork and school projects Rosalie had saved for her, I find the notebook Alice wrote in while she was pregnant. Letters to her baby, a story of deep sacrifice and profound love, where Alice had tried her best to give her daughter the answers she knew she would want one day.

“Alice wrote this when she was pregnant,” I say to Daisy, showing her the pages filled with Alice’s loopy, whimsical teenage handwriting. “Like a diary, but talking to the baby inside her…talking to you. She gave it to me after you were born, so I could show it to you when you needed it.”

I hesitate. The notebook is a love story, but there are also some frank and uncomfortable truths in there about how close Alice came to choosing abortion and I don’t think Daisy is ready for that yet. “I’m not giving it to you now. I think you might need to be a bit older to read some of it. But I want to read you some now, because even though it’s really shit that you’ve had two mothers who couldn’t stay with you, you need to know that they both loved you more than anything in the world. So here’s just a little part that Alice wrote on your birthday, about the moment you were born.”

I clear my throat and wrap an arm around Daisy, who snuggles close, and then I start reading and even my terrible reading aloud can’t take away from the words Alice gave me for this moment. “ _Hey little thing…More than anything else though, in that moment there was love. Love so full and so pure and so perfect that there aren’t words for it. Never, ever, doubt how much I love you, little thing. They might have cut the physical cord that bound us, but there’s a connection there that can’t ever be severed. You grew inside my body and inside my heart, and what I feel for you will never leave me…I hope one day you’ll understand. I’m going to take this notebook of letters I’ve written to you and give it to Emmett and Rosalie for safekeeping. One day, when the time is right, they’ll give it to you and I hope you read them. I hope you’ll understand how I feel and I hope that you will know, deep down in your heart, how much you were always loved.”_

Daisy is crying, but there’s a smile behind the tears. “She really wrote all that about me? And all the rest are letters to me?” She takes the notebook for a moment and flicks through the pages, too fast for any of the words to register, although she stops on the final page when she sees the daisy drawing there. “That’s your tattoo for me. And Alice has the same.”

“That’s right. Alice designed it, and I inked it on her belly right where you spent nine months kicking her.” Daisy giggles a little damply, and I wipe her eyes on the edge of her quilt. “You are so special to her. And being allowed to be your dad is one of the very best things that ever happened to me. I know that it’s hard for you sometimes, with your adoption and then losing Mom, but you have always been so loved, Daisy-bug. You always will be. You don’t ever need to doubt that.”

______________________________________________

“Where were we?” I murmur, coming back into the living room after resettling Bram in bed and wrapping myself around Angela on the sofa. “Somewhere around here?” I kiss the hollow of her throat and move up to her lips. “That right?”

“Mmm.” Angela’s hands curl into my hair and I groan against her mouth. “Somewhere like that…but I thought you might want to go into your room?”

I lift my head a little, looking into her brown eyes as my heart pounds. “Do you mean…?”

Angela nods, with that half embarrassed, half seductive smile that I’ve already discovered drives me crazy. “I finished my period so the pill will be effective now, and you bought condoms, right? So if you want to…”

“Oh, yeah.” I get to my feet with almost indecent haste, pulling Angela up with me and then I laugh as I grab her and lift her into my arms. “I want to!”

She half shrieks, wrapping her legs around me and burying her face in my neck. “You can’t carry me!”

“Why not?” I head for my room. Angela’s tall, but she’s very lean and not actually all that heavy. “I want to carry you…god, I want you.” This time I remember to kick the door closed behind us as I let us fall onto the bed. “Oh Anya…I love you.”

And _damn_ , but it’s worth the wait.

We take our time, this first time, with long deep kisses and a slow exploration of each other that builds until there’s nothing but what we are together. And it’s good. To be with her, to love her in that way, to feel that closeness and tenderness and bliss with her…it’s everything I want and more.

_I love you._

When it’s over I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her hair, and for one horrifying moment I think I’m going to start crying. To be here with her, to be able to do this with someone else that’s not Rosalie and to feel _good_ about it…I had thought, for a long time there in the darkness of my grief, that this could never happen again. I had thought that that part of me died with Rosalie, and not for the first time I am passionately grateful for the gift that Angela has been in my life.

_And I think you’d be happy for me too, Rosa-girl. You would understand this – you knew my heart as deeply as anyone, and you would know how much I need love in my life._

“Was that okay?” Angela squirms until she can lay her head on the pillow beside mine and look at me. “Are you…good?” She’s trying hard to sound casual.

“I am _so_ good,” I say softly, my hands in her hair as I kiss her again. “Beautiful unicorn-girl…I am so happy with you, and that was amazing. Good for you?”

I can feel the heat from her blush from the other side of the pillow. “You couldn’t tell?!?”

I can’t help laughing at that. “Well, yeah but…just checking!”

I feel like an odd combination of very experienced and completely clueless when it comes to sex with Angela. Rosalie and I went at it pretty hard for nineteen years and tried most things in that time, but knowing what to do for one woman doesn’t mean much when it comes to a different one, as I’d discovered with Lainey. Here with Angela I’m starting all over again, and I care very deeply that it go well. But as I curve my hands around her ass and she hooks a leg over my hip with a happy little sigh, I think we’re off to a very good start.

“I should go,” Angela murmurs some time later, stretching languidly against me.

“You don’t have to,” I say drowsily. “You could stay with me.” Wrapped in a warm, sweaty tangle of bodies, my blood still humming with the after effects of bliss, the last thing I want is for her to get up and leave.

Angela lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I think you should probably talk to Mac and Noah before I start staying over, just so they don’t get a surprise in the morning.”

“How about I haul them out of bed right now?” I mutter, and Angela giggles and kisses me again.

“Another time,” she whispers. “I’ll be back again tomorrow.” And even in the dark I can see her smile.

It’s not a situation I want to reoccur though, so the very next morning when Mac asks me to draw a tattoo on him I sit him down on my bed and call Noah into the room too.

“I want to talk to you guys,” I say, outlining a three-headed dog on Mac’s upper arm.

“I didn’t do anything!” Mac protests immediately.

I laugh. “I know; you’re not in trouble. It’s about something else.” I pause for a minute, concentrating on the ratio of teeth to drooling saliva. “I wanted to let you know that Angela is going to be spending a bit more time here. Not really working, just…hanging out. Like on the weekends, and sometimes she might stay over and be here when you wake up in the morning.”

“How come?” Noah leans closer to see what I’m drawing. “That’s a cool tattoo…did you know that the three-headed dog is really called Cerberus, and not Fluffy like in Harry Potter?”

As impressed as I am by Noah’s surprising knowledge of Greek mythology, I don’t want to be distracted. “Well, Angela and I are pretty good friends…actually kind of more than that. I’d really like it if she was here more often so I could spend more time with her.”

“Like a girlfriend?” Mac asks.

“Yeah, I guess like that,” I say, adding in a little more fur detail. “So, would that be okay with you?”

Mac does an admirable job of shrugging with only one shoulder, keeping the arm I’m drawing on immobile. “Angie’s here all the time on the weekdays anyway, so if you want her to be your girlfriend the rest of the time I don’t care. As long as that doesn’t mean you only pay attention to her and we don’t get to do anything fun together anymore, like ride bikes and play baseball, because Angie’s not very good at baseball.”

I grin at him. “We’ll still do all those things.” I look over at Noah. “What about you?”

His fingers flutter near his hair. “If she’s your girlfriend, does that make her our new mom? Do we have to call her Mom?”

My stomach lurches. That’s something I’ve never thought about, the children ever calling anyone else Mom…but I look at Noah’s anxious face and know that he, more than any of the others, wishes he had someone that he could give that name too and it makes me hesitate.

“No, I would never tell you that you _have_ to call someone else Mom.” I cap the markers and slot them carefully back into place. “But maybe someday, if there was someone and you _wanted_ to…well, maybe that will happen. But for now, Angela’s just going to be your friend like she always is. She and I will see how things go together, okay? We’re not getting married and changing everything, we’re just…”

“Going on dates?” Noah suggests brightly. “Like to go-karts and the movies? Can we come with you? Or, I thought of another one! What about the zoo?”

I laugh, and pull him closer for a hug. “I think you’ve got some good ideas…you can be my wingman.”


	57. Writing a New Chapter

I actually take Noah’s suggestions about dating and take Angela to the zoo. Admittedly the six kids that come along with us really put paid to the idea of romance, but it’s a fun day out and marks another tentative step on our road towards making a family.

Because that’s what it starts to feel like. A family. Both Angela and I were concerned about the children being involved in our developing relationship, but the reality is there’s no way to avoid it. I can’t leave them home alone to take her out anywhere with just the two of us! We have to fit our time together around the children, snatching time alone when they’re in bed and just doing the best we can the rest of the time. But the more time we spend all together, the more natural and cohesive it feels.

Of course it can’t all be simple. There are moments of awkwardness as we adjust, small misunderstandings that sometimes lead to hurt feelings. The more time Angela spends with us the more the lines between what’s work and what’s personal feels blurred, and I worry about the possibility of resentment as more of her time is swallowed up by my family. The two of us aren’t always exactly in sync with what we want and how we’re going to get there. Angela is more careful and deliberate, I’m more willing to rush ahead and see what happens. Sometimes I’m too much, pushing a little too hard and wanting a little more than she’s ready to give. Sometimes the grief still roars and I back away. Angela lacks the self-confidence and self-assertiveness I’m used to in a relationship and sometimes I take this shyness or reticence as rejection when it’s not meant that way. They’re small things though, easy to work through when the underlying feelings of love and affection and respect are so strong.

Although the night that I say Rosalie’s name while we’re having sex tests that pretty hard.

I hear myself say it. I’m at the point of no return, that freefall towards orgasm, and I let my mouth run. A jumble of words, nothing considered that matters or means anything. _“Oh god yes…so good…ungh…yes…oh!...fuck, Rosa-girl…”_

It just slips out, and even though I can’t stop what my body is doing as I finish the pleasure of it is almost unfelt as I realise what I’ve just said.

I would bite my tongue off if I could take it back. I’m not even thinking about her! It’s Angela’s slim hips I’m gripping hard in my hands, her unicorn back in front of me, the taste of her on my tongue…I am fully in the here and now, feeling nothing but the pleasure of what the woman right there in front of me and I can create when we’re together. But nineteen years of habit dies hard, and without thought or intention I say it.

_Rosa-girl._

Angela jerks away, scrambling across the bed as I reach towards her. “Anya…”

“Don’t touch me! And don’t call me that!” Her voice is tight, but I can’t quite tell if it’s tears or rage.

My fingertips brush across her back as my hand falls onto the bed. “I am so, so sorry. That was…I didn’t mean anything. It just….I fucked up.” I grab a handful of tissues and get rid of the condom, and then turn back to her. “I’m sorry.”

“So are you thinking about her then? When we’re…” Angela bites off the words. “You _bastard._ ”

“No!” I say fiercely. “I swear to you I’m not, not ever. I’m not running comparisons here or…when I’m with you, I’m with _you_.”

“But you said _her_ name.” Her voice breaks, and risking her wrath I reach out and tenderly stroke the hair away from her face.

“It was an accident. A mistake. I wasn’t thinking about her…honestly, at that point do you even believe I’m capable of thinking at all?” I laugh weakly, but she doesn’t slap my hand away and I curl a length of her hair around my hand. “I love you and I love being with you. We’re really good together. Tonight was…I messed up. For nineteen years I only ever did this with Rosalie. Always her, and only ever her – it’s a long time of the same thing, and I guess in the moment I wasn’t thinking straight and habit won out. I mean, I suppose I also say God’s name pretty often, and Jesus crops up a quite a bit now that I’m thinking about it…that doesn’t mean I’m born again.”

Angela laughs a little, but she’s still holding herself tensely away from me and when I touch her face I feel warm, wet tears slicking her cheeks.

“Oh baby, please…the last thing in the world I want is for you to feel bad. I love you. I’m a complete bonehead who should have just kept his mouth shut but please, please don’t take it to mean anything other than that I’m an idiot.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Angela is crying openly now, and I can’t stop myself from rolling closer and wrapping my arms around her, kissing her tears and rubbing her back, combing my hands through her hair. I hate that, however inadvertently, I’ve hurt her this badly.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes. “But sometimes I hate this! It’s so hard to come after her! And then you say her name when we’re…and I feel horrible because it’s like everything I’m most afraid of is true. That you’re always comparing me to her, and I’m never going to be good enough, or pretty enough, or…”

“Stop,” I whisper tenderly. “I can’t let you say anything bad about my unicorn girl. Not when she’s so beautiful, and so very much exactly what I want.” I let her sob against my shoulder. “You’re more than good enough.”

Angela’s tears slowly fade. “I’m sorry,” she says at last in a muffled voice. “I really am trying not to let my insecurities get the better of me! But it’s not always easy.”

“And obviously what I said tonight didn’t help,” I say ruefully. “I am really, really sorry about that. But it really was just a slip of the tongue. I don’t think about Rosalie when we’re in bed – I never have. I think about _you._ And I’m certainly not keeping any kind of comparison tally all the time either…I’m not ticking off oh Angie’s a better cook but Rosalie knew how to build robots, or Rosalie and I did this in bed but Angela and I do that…I promise you, I’m not. I don’t want you to feel like you’re always coming second, or that you’re in some never-ending competition with Rosalie because I’m not thinking that way. I loved her and I will forever be grateful that I had her in my life for the time that I did, but I love you too. I love what we have, and the life that we’re making together.”

“I love you too.” Angela leans past me to grab some tissues, and blows her nose. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

I kiss the breast that’s right in my face. “You’re not a mess. You’re amazing.” I wait until she’s settled back beside me and say softly. “I know how hard this is for you; to be the woman who came _after_. I might not say it, but I see it every day and I am so grateful that you are brave enough and strong enough to love me anyway.”

___________________________________________

“Hey, you look beautiful!” I say appreciatively, as Angela climbs into the passenger seat of the van. I lean across and kiss her, ignoring Daisy and Noah giggling in the backseat.

Angela fastens her seatbelt and self-consciously smooths her skirt and touches her hair, which is twisted up on her head and fastened with a flower barrette. “It’s all right?” she says a little anxiously. “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“You look great,” I assure her, pulling the van away from Angela’s house and heading downtown.

Angela twists towards the back and says hi to all the kids, and then gives me a slightly sheepish smile. “I’m just kind of nervous about this.”

“You don’t need to be, it’s just Carlisle’s birthday. Family and friends. And you came to Christmas with my family.”

“Yes, but we weren’t together then! This is different.” Angela makes a face.

“Aww, it’ll be fine. Everyone knows and you know that they’re all pleased for us. No one is going to say anything to you. Well, maybe Alice…I make no promises there! But no one else is going to make a big deal out of it.”

I smile at her sympathetically. I’m not worried, but I can understand Angela’s apprehension at taking our new relationship out in the wider public for the first time. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know, and we’ve spent time together with Carlisle and Esme, and of course Angela and Bella are friends and have playdates with the kids every week anyway, but tonight is a giant birthday party for Carlisle. Esme has pretty much invited everyone they’ve ever met to it, and Angela and I are going to be walking into it together.

“Although I guess I should say that Rosalie’s parents are going to be there tonight,” I say, remembering. “Just so you know.”

“That might be more awkward for you than me. Do they know that we’re seeing each other?” Angela twists her hands together.

“I don’t think so. It’s not as though I talk to them that much.” I shrug. “We’ve texted to organise skiing next week at Easter, but we don’t really discuss anything personal. And besides, it doesn’t really matter what they think. I don’t care what anyone thinks, not as long as you’re happy.” I reach across and squeeze her hand. “Because I’m happy.”

Angela smiles back, and it seems to ease her nerves a bit. It helps that the first person that greets us when we get to the hotel and go into the function room Esme hired is Alice, whirling over and wrapping everyone up in effusive hugs and kisses. “Hello, hello…oh, you’re all so much bigger every time I see you, it’s ridiculous!...Emmett!”

She jumps at me and I catch her with a laugh. “Hey Monkey.”

“I’m _SO_ happy for you,” she whispers fervently, before she spins towards Angela and hugs her too. “Angela, you look beautiful tonight!”

Carlisle and Esme break away from talking to some other guests as the kids race to them, holding out homemade birthday cards and shouting happy birthday. Angela and I follow, and I’m happy to see the easy and affectionate way that she and Esme and Carlisle greet each other.

“Happy birthday Dad,” I say teasingly, giving Carlisle a hug. “Hope you enjoy your party – looks like every friend you’ve ever made is here!”

“It’s a little overwhelming,” Carlisle admits, glancing around the crowded room. “But your mother wanted to plan a party, so what could I do but say thank you?” He tucks his arm through Esme’s and kisses her cheek.

Esme beams at him. “You deserve to have a fuss made over you occasionally, and what better excuse than a birthday! Oh look, Tanya’s here, we must go and say hello.”

Esme drags him away, and Angela and I head towards the corner of the room where Edward and Bella are already set up with Eliza and Rob and a pile of books and toys to help amuse the kids on the table.

Wrangling six kids at an adult focussed party is always a little bit fraught, but we have a pretty good evening. The function room is gorgeously decorated, with plenty of floating balloons for the kids to play with, there’s a band, and a great dinner. My kids all eat without complaining and don’t do anything too mortifying or anti-social, and are all cute enough in their fancy outfits to be forgiven anyway.

It’s also a great opportunity to catch up with some of the distant relatives and long-time family friends that I rarely get to see. As often as I can I make sure to have Angela with me, her hand in mine as I introduce her to everyone. I want her to feel comfortable here as part of the family, and I want her to know just how important she is to me.

She hangs back a little when we gather with Carlisle around his birthday cake, but I reach for her and draw her closer.

“You’re here with me,” I say to her quietly. “That’s what matters.” I brush my lips across her forehead and then grin. “And on a more practical note, I don’t have three hands and can’t hold Holly and keep Bram and Zeke away from Carlisle’s candles at the same time so I need you to help me.” I heft Holly a little higher on my hip and grab the collar of Bram’s shirt just in time to yank him back before his little fingers reach the icing rosettes around the side of the cake as everyone starts to sing.

Afterwards I leave the kids eating cake and take Holly down the hallway to the family bathroom to change her diaper. As I come out I almost run into Jack, Rosalie’s dad, coming out of the men’s room.

“Emmett.” He nods at me and then his eyes go to Holly, as she yawns in my arms. “She’s getting so big…looks more like her mommy every time I see her.”

Holly dimples at him, and I kiss her head as she rests it against my shoulder. “I know.”

“So…you and the babysitter then?”

“Angela,” I say deliberately. “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t that seem kind of…soon?” Jack rubs his face wearily. “I’m not having a dig at you, I just…I don’t know.”

Jack’s comment is insensitive, but I can’t bring myself to feel angry with him. His voice is bleak and the eyes he still has trained on Holly are full of a kind of despair that I recognise only too well. So my tone is gentle when I finally do answer him. “It is what it is. And it doesn’t feel soon…not to me. It feels like damned near forever since she died.”

Jack shrugs. “It’s up to you. Like I said, I’m not having a dig at you…I did enough of that in the past. Probably wasn’t all that fair to you, to be honest.”

_You think?!_

But I can’t help laughing. “Look, I’m a dad now too – I actually understand your protectiveness a lot more!” I look at Rosalie’s dimpled little doppelganger in my arms and smile ruefully, trying to imagine how I might react if she tells me she’s getting married at twenty-one to someone I don’t think is good enough for her. “But you never really had to worry. I might have been a dumbass kid, but I loved Rosalie with everything I had and I would have done anything in the world to see her happy.”

“You were good to her,” Jack says stiffly. “Never made any money, mind, but you made her happy and that’s what counts in the end.”

_Oh Rosa-girl, if only it hadn’t taken your death for him to realise that. He missed out on so much…I’m glad we always let love lead the way._

“The…Angela. She’s good to the kids?” Jack touches Holly’s cheek. “They like her?”

“They love her,” I say.

“Well that’s good. They need a mom.”

I would never have thought I’d feel sorry for Jack Hale, but at the note of defeat in his voice I can’t help but be moved. “Angie’s great with the kids and they all love her, but Rosalie’s still their mother,” I say quietly. “They know that, and we talk about her a lot and tell them all the time how much she loved them. That’s never going to change. And Angela doesn’t change anything for you and Lily with the kids either – you know that any time you want to see them you can just ask.”

“Easter skiing is coming up,” Jack says more cheerfully and we begin heading back towards the function room. “I’m looking forward to that. I was meaning to ask you about Daisy trying out some aerial skiing lessons if she wants to? Seems like a good fit with her gymnastics…and I was thinking that we might get those two little boys on skis this time too? I don’t know how well they’d follow a lesson, but if we get them fitted and have a little play around…”

Jack and I talk about Easter skiing for a while and then he moves off to talk to Carlisle and I go and flop down in a chair beside Edward and Bella with a sigh.

“God, that man…” I shake my head and dig into the diaper bag for Holly’s pacifier, giving it to her as she snuggles sleepily against my chest. “There you go Jellybean.”

“I can’t believe she’s just going to go to sleep on your lap in the middle of a party,” Bella mutters, glancing from Holly to Rob, who is standing up on Edward’s thighs and looking wide awake. “Meanwhile my little gremlin hasn’t let me sleep through the night since he was born!”

“She’s still just about the easiest baby in the world,” I admit, gently rocking Holly from side to side and rubbing her back. “I feel like I put in the hard yards with Daisy and then two sets of twins though…maybe your sixth kid is going to be an easy one?” I tease.

Bella snorts. “Two and done, that’s it!”

Edward grins at me. “We’ll leave fielding a family baseball team to you.”

I look across at the dancefloor, where Angela is dancing and laughing with Alice and Daisy, and shake my head with a smile. “No more from me. Holly gets to play shortstop for life.”

“Until she grows taller than Daisy, anyway,” Edward remarks. He looks from Daisy and Alice and Angela over to me, and I catch his smile.

“What?”

“It’s just…it’s good to see you happy,” he says simply. “She’s been good for you.”

“She has.” I chuckle reminiscently. “You’re being a lot more encouraging of me and Angela than you were of me and Rosalie back in the day.”

For a moment Edward looks horrified, before his face breaks into a grin. “Well, can you blame me? Sixteen year old Rosalie was…something else. She’d bossed me around unmercifully when we were children, we’d fought constantly whenever our parents forced us together, and here I thought I’d finally managed to relegate her to the very edges of my life when you dragged her right back in to the family!”

I throw my head back, laughing hard enough that Holly’s eyes blink back into wakefulness. “She was something else all right, but I think you and I had different opinions on what that something else was!”

“I can’t deny that,” Edward agrees in amusement. “Fortunately for me I think you were a good influence on her…she definitely became more likeable after you!”

Still laughing a little, I rock Holly and watch her eyelids flutter closed. It occurs to me how far we’ve come, and how glad I am to be this way. Being able to talk about Rosalie with Edward, talk about _her_ and not the loss of her, talk about her not as the half-sainted figure that her death created of her, but talk about the reality of her…I love that we’re here. I love that we can joke about her volatile relationship with Edward. I love that we’re putting her back into the story of our lives where she belongs, even as I’m writing the next chapter of my life with someone new.

“Hey Bells?” I lean past Edward. “I’ve been wondering; did you plan this? Way back when you set Angela up with the job? Did you see it coming?”

“I didn’t _plan_ it. At the start it really was just that I thought Angela would be perfect for the kids, and she’d be a good fit to help you out. At that time you were just so broken-hearted all we thought about was survival for you. So no, I wasn’t playing matchmaker when I suggested Angela go to work for you! But having said that, I _totally_ saw it coming,” Bella says smugly. “Not right away, but as time went by. Once the two of you were spending time together, once I heard Angie talk about you, once I saw you starting to heal…I could see the way it might be and I wanted it for both of you. After all you’ve been through, and after all Angela’s been through, you both deserve something wonderful.” She smiles at me and holds out her arms. “And if you’d like to go and dance with her, which judging by the way you keep looking over there I think you do, I’m more than happy to snuggle your sleeping baby…an experience I rarely get with my little gremlin!”

Laughing, I gently transfer Holly to Bella’s arms without waking her, laying a smacking kiss on Bella’s cheek as I do so. “Well, planned or just lucky…I love you for it, Bells.” And I head on over to Angela.


	58. Pieces of my Heart

_Six months later – September_

“Okay, do you want to carry that in?” I park the van by the side of the house and look at Daisy in the backseat, who is poking her fingers under the lid of the cardboard box on her lap and making crooning noises. “You’ll have to be careful.”

“Angie’s going to love it so much!” Daisy climbs out of the van, cradling the box like it’s made of glass. “It’s going to be the best birthday ever.”

“I hope so.” I sling Daisy’s gym bag over my shoulder and carefully pick up the bakery box. “Take it to the living room and we’ll give it to her right away.”

“Daddy! Day-ee!” We’re met at the door by Holly, who gives us a beaming smile as she pulls up her t-shirt over her round belly to show that she’s wearing a pair of Oscar the Grouch y-fronts, the waistband safety-pinned into a little tail at the back so they’ll stay on. “Me…potty me!”

Angela appears behind her. “She insisted,” she tells me. “I guess after watching Bram and Zeke she felt left out. And she’s peed on the potty twice and only had one accident – which is better than Zeke managed today! We’ll have to buy her some undies of her own that actually fit instead of having her wear Bram and Zeke’s.”

“Well, who’s my big, clever girl then?” I say admiringly to Holly, crouching down and holding the bakery box aside so I can give her a kiss.

I stand up and kiss Angela as well. “Hello to you too, birthday girl…come into the living room, Daisy and I have a present for you.”

I carry the cake into the kitchen and yell out the back for Mac and Noah to come in from the trampoline, before I go into the living room. Bram and Zeke are there, both wearing t-shirts and no pants. “How’s potty training going with you two?” I ask, glancing over at the sticker chart and seeing Holly’s name added to the bottom.

“I poop in the potty,” Bram tells me, at the same time as Zeke beams and says blithely, “I peed on the floor.”

“Win some, lose some,” Angela says with a grin. “And Holly joining in the fun was a bit of a surprise, but I figured I may as well run with it if she’s keen. Imagine if we get all three of them out of diapers in one hit!”

“Angie, sit down!” Daisy cries impatiently. “I want to give you your present…it’s so good!”

Angela obligingly takes a seat on the sofa. I lean back against the wall, watching happily as Holly scrambles up beside her and Daisy ceremoniously places the box on Angela’s lap. The boys crowd in close as Angela lifts the lid, and there’s a collective exclamation as she lifts the lid and everyone hears the mewing noise.

Angela gives me one shining look and then reaches into the box and pulls out a kitten, cuddling it close and stroking the thick, grey striped fur. “Oh, she’s so beautiful!”

“He,” I say. “It’s a boy.”

“Gentle hands,” Angela prompts the kids as they all reach towards the cat. “He’s just a baby…or is he? He’s got a baby face but he’s enormous.”

“He’s ten weeks old, so he’s young. Jonah’s neighbour’s cat got out and had a little adventure, and this is the result - so he’s half Maine Coon and half just plain cat she guesses.” I squeeze onto the sofa beside her, pulling Holly into my lap so there’s room, and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Do you like him? I know you were planning on getting a cat, and when Jonah showed me some photos of the litter I thought you’d love him.”

“Oh, I do!” Angela kisses me, and then kisses the kitten right between his surprised looking eyes. “You couldn’t have given me anything I’d like more. Look at him!”

I don’t really look at the kitten though. I look at Angela, at her sparkling dark eyes and the curve of her lip as she laughs, teasing the kitten with the end of her braid, and think again how beautiful she is and how happy she makes me. The kitten bats her hair and then tumbles sideways off her lap, and the children roar with laughter.

“He’s so cute! What are you going to call him?”

Angela picks him up again and rubs her cheek against his fur. “I don’t know, we’ll have to think of a good name.” She sets him back on her lap, and the children reach out to touch him again.

“Careful, don’t scare him…gentle hands,” I remind the kids. But they’re being good with him, and the kitten seems quite happy as he leans into the petting and meows.

A moment later I feel something warm and wet on my leg, and Holly grabs her crotch. “Uh-oh.”

In one move I’m on my feet and racing her towards the bathroom, plonking her down on the potty just in time to catch the last of her pee.

“Me potty!” Holly stands up and points at her little puddle triumphantly. “See!”

“Good job,” I tell her, peeling the sodden undies off from around her ankles and then grabbing a facewasher and wiping down her butt and legs. “Little bit of warning next time would be better, but good job!”

Angela comes into the bathroom and offers Holly some clean underpants. Holly chooses the red Elmo ones and I help her step into them, safety-pinning a fold into the waistband so they fit. “There you go Jellybean.”

“Did you think about a litterbox for the kitten?” Angela asks me. “Or else that’s another lot of pee we’re going to be cleaning up pretty soon.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got everything you need for him out in the car. Just let me put these wet undies and my jeans down in the laundry and I’ll grab it for you.”

I strip off my jeans and toss the wet clothes into the machine in the basement, grabbing a pair of shorts before I head back upstairs. The kitten is creeping across the sofa, stalking Daisy’s fingers as she wiggles them tantalisingly in front of him.

“He’s got pretty sharp teeth and claws, so be careful,” I warn them, as Holly stretches her chubby little hand out next to Daisy’s. “I’ve got some toys for him, I’ll just get them out of the car. Angie, can you give me a hand?”

“He’s so gorgeous, and so confident!” Angela says, following me out to the minivan.

I grin at her. “Jonah’s neighbour said he was the boss of the litter. Full of beans and not scared of anything – she said he’d be the best one for you if he was going to be around the kids.” I open the rear door of the van. “I got you everything you need for him…this is the food he’s been eating, and I got the same litter she said he’s used to. A litter box and some food dishes and toys, and that box is a cat playground – or at least, it’s all the pieces of a cat playground, we have to put it together – and a bed and here’s his vaccination record and his microchip papers…”

Angela is laughing as she twirls a wand with attached ribbons in my face. “You really thought of everything! Even a cat door,” she adds, looking at the last box left in the van. “Although I can’t install that at my apartment, so you should probably return it.”

“Well I wasn’t thinking about your apartment so much for that,” I say slowly, feeling my belly tighten with sudden nerves. “I was more thinking it might be good in the kitchen door here, so he can go out onto the porch. If…if you wanted to move in here with him.”

Angela tickles my face with the ribbons. “Are you asking me to move in?”

I reach out and grab her hand on the wand, holding it still. “Yes, I am.” My heart lifts as I see her smile, and I draw her closer to me so I can hold her in my arms. “I love you. I love having you around and I want you here all the time. I want being together to be living together…every night and every morning, and everything in between.”

“Oh Emmett.” Angela’s eyes glimmer with tears, but she’s smiling as she tips her face up and kisses me. “I would love to move in with you.”

“Good.” I kiss her back and say quickly, “And before you ask me if I’m sure, or what about the kids…I am sure, and they’ll be fine with this. They love you. You’re here so often anyway, and the times that you’re not they’ve started to ask me _why_ you’ve gone back to your apartment instead of being here with us. Besides,” I finish with a laugh. “Now you’ll be bringing that cat with you…honestly, if I hadn’t asked you to move in the kids probably would have.”

Angela giggles, kisses me again, and then begins gathering up all the cat supplies. “We’d better go back inside and check on them all. And hopefully offer that kitty a litter box before I’m cleaning up even _more_ little accidents…don’t get me wrong, I’m happy Holly has decided to basically potty train herself, but three toddlers potty training at the same time is a lot!”

“I’m sorry to add a kitten on top of that,” I say a little guiltily.

“Oh, don’t be sorry!” Angela beams at me as we start heading back to the house. “He’s gorgeous! Exactly what I’ve always wanted. And if I move in here, you get to help me clean up after him.”

I hold open the door with a laugh. “He should be easier to potty train than the kids, anyway. Jonah’s neighbour said he’s using the litterbox fine, so it should mostly be a matter of making sure he knows where it is…” I break off with a sigh as I see Zeke in the bathroom, gaily flinging piles of toilet paper onto a puddle on the floor. “If you sort the cat out, I’ll just clean Zeke up and then the kids have another present for you.”

A few minutes later I’m cuddling the purring kitten while Noah heaves a large package onto Angela’s lap. It’s wrapped in plain paper that the kids have decorated with drawings, and I smile as I watch Angela examine every picture and scribble.

“Kitty, kitty…” Holly stands on my feet to make herself taller and stretches up towards the cat.

I squat down so she can pet him, watching over her head as Angela carefully lifts the tape and folds back the paper to reveal a framed photograph. It’s Angela and I with all the kids at the beach, everyone in swimsuits with sandy feet and windswept hair as we pose together by the enormous sandcastle we’d built, decorated with shells and seaweed and a moat that swirls with seawater as the tide rushes in behind us. Alice had taken it on our vacation a couple of weeks ago, somehow managing to capture everyone actually looking at the camera with their eyes open _and_ smiling – not an easy task with six children, when someone is usually picking their nose or crossing their eyes or somehow offending a sibling to make them scream at the exactly the wrong moment.

“Oh, this is beautiful, I love it!”

Noah leans against Angela’s shoulder. “It was my idea! It’s our whole family, see? I said to Dad that we should get the same picture and put it up there somewhere.” He points to the gallery wall of family portraits behind the sofa. “The last picture of our family is just us kids when Holly was first born and she’s so little that you can’t even tell it’s her. We need a new one. And you’re not in any pictures in our house and I think you should be. Don’t you think so too?” He looks up at her anxiously.

I reach out and gently take hold of his hand before he can tangle his fingers in his hair. “Well maybe we can hang Angie’s picture right up on the wall, because I just asked her if she wanted to live with us properly and she said yes.”

“Yay!” the kids all cheer, with Daisy adding jubilantly, “We get you _and_ that adorable kitten!”

“Well I’m really glad you’re so happy to have us!” Angela grins at the kids and kisses the top of Noah’s head. “The picture was a great idea Noah, thank you. I’d love to hang it up on the wall there.”

“I can do it now, if you want.” I rise to my feet, lifting the kitten out of reach of Holly, who has escalated her gentle petting to enraptured kissing of his enormous paws. I hand him to Angela and reach towards the wall. “I thought we could just swap your picture in for this one, they’re about the same size.”

It’s a picture of Rosalie and I that I lift down. Taken on our wedding day. it’s almost more of a landscape than a portrait. Shot from a distance, Rosalie and I are standing in the dappled shade of an oak, she leaning back against the tree with her face tipped up to mine, me with an arm braced against the trunk over her head as I bend my face down towards her. Our photographer, a friend of Lily’s, had arranged us and then left us alone while she fiddled around with lenses and tripods. I hadn’t noticed that she’d picked up the camera again, and the photograph captured a moment of such private tenderness and sweetness that I’ve always liked it. For a moment my gaze lingers on it, before I set it aside and reach for the picture tucked under Angela’s arm.

Her fingers curve around the frame, her dark eyes on mine. “You don’t have to do that. We can find another space.”

I gently lift her hand from where it’s gripping the wood, tenderly kissing her fingers for a brief moment. “It’s okay. You’re going to be moving in, and we have to make this feel like your home too. I really want the family photos with her to stay up, for the kids, but this one…I’m okay with putting it away.”

Angela nods, and I carefully hang the frame from the hook. “How does it look? Straight?”

The kids spend the next five minutes giving me directions to make minute adjustments, but eventually they’re satisfied with my work and I step back with a grin. “There you go. What a good-looking family we make.” I glance at the clock. “We should think about dinner; who’s hungry?”

The answer is, as always, _everyone._ So Angela shuts the kitten in my bedroom to give him a break from the kids’ enthusiasm and let him use the litterbox in peace, and we order pizza which is what she wants for her birthday. It’s such a warm night we eat it off our laps on the back porch, watching the sun move towards the horizon. As I eat the last slice, Holly tenderly feeds her crusts to Clementine and the older kids start begging to go wading.

“Sure,” I say. “For a little while, and then we’ll do cake…okay with you Angie?”

“I’ll just check on the kitten and be right out,” Angela says, stacking up the empty pizza boxes.

I wander down to the river with the kids, Holly holding my hand and jabbering away happily as she walks beside me, although I only understand about one word in ten. Clementine ambles along beside her. The others run ahead, Bram and Zeke throwing off clothes until they’re buck naked as they hit the water. I pick up the dropped t-shirts and undies and set them on top of Rosalie’s stone, lowering myself to the ground to sit and lean against it.

_Hey, Rosa-girl._

For a brief moment I touch my fingertips to the name on her plaque, then look back at the kids, shrieking at the cold water and laughing as they splash each other. 

_You see them, don’t you? They’re all amazing – so funny and smart and gorgeous…we did good, Rosa-girl. I bet you’re proud of them._

Angela comes down from the house, dropping a kiss on my head as she rolls up her jeans and kicks off her shoes before she steps into the river. I watch as she ducks her head to listen to Bram, and tickles Zeke’s bare belly before she joins in with Mac and Noah and Daisy as they move stones around to create new rivulets and waterfalls on the edges. She stops for a moment and offers a hand to steady Holly as she climbs over one of the bigger rocks, kissing her blonde head as Holly finds her feet in the slow moving summer river.

_Angie’s good to them. She’s very different to you, but she loves them and they love her, and that’s the most important thing. She’s going to live with us now, and I know she’s going to be a great mom to them. I think you’d approve._

_I love her too. It’s not the same as what I had with you, but I’m not exactly the same person I was when I was with you either. When I lost you I felt like I’d lost myself too. But it turns out my heart is more resilient than I thought, and I love what I’ve found with Angela – she’s beautiful and she makes me happy. I feel like you know that though. I feel like you would understand._

I smile to myself a little, remembering Rosalie. The thought of her mostly feels good these days, a shining golden memory of the beautiful woman I was lucky enough to call mine for so many years. I carry her with me, feel her in my heart and see her in the faces of our children, and love her in a way that will never leave me.

_Falling in love with you felt kind of like falling off a cliff. Sudden and exhilarating and irrevocable, it had changed everything. Falling in love with Angela has been a whole different story…like a seed falling onto barren ground and putting down roots anyway, growing quietly while I wasn’t even looking. And then one day I turned around and it was already there, something strong and brave and beautiful growing from the ashes, filling my heart in a whole new way._

Two different loves. Impossible to compare, but both of them make up the pieces of my heart. And despite the heartache, despite the grief, all I can feel is grateful for what I had and what I’ve been blessed with again.

“Dad!” I look up as Mac shouts from the river. “Come and help us!”

“Daddy!” Bram shrieks, flinging water in my direction and drenching Zeke who happens to be in the way.

I laugh and get to my feet. Holly giggles and runs towards me, and I scoop her up in my arms and toss her high in the air, catching her as she comes back down and hugging her close for a minute. _Love you, Jellybean baby._

“Daddy play?” she says, patting my face and then pointing to the river. “Daddy play now?”

“Sure,” I say, kissing her dimpled cheek and swinging her up to sit on my shoulders as she crows delightedly. “Let’s go play.”

And I go down to the waterline and join my family as the sun drifts lower in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – As much as I hate to say it (really, REALLY hate to say it!)…that’s the end. Love Beyond…love beyond life, love beyond death, love beyond words.
> 
> I wanted to end it with a huge thank you to everyone who has read or commented or messaged with me during the more than three years I’ve been writing in this particular fanfic world. Especially over last year, writing Love Beyond – 2020 was a really hard year that sucked in a whole bunch of different ways, and everybody who read this story and commented on it made it that little bit easier to get through. Whether you commented or just read, I saw your words and the hit count going up and it all kept me going. You guys are brilliant.
> 
> There’ll be a couple of extra chapters after this, some random excerpts and other character POV that I wrote on the side while I was doing this – I’ll post them once I’ve tidied them up.
> 
> I genuinely don’t know quite how to say goodbye to this – so thank you again.


	59. Extra - Angela POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – These are just a few different bits of Angela’s point of view, from when she was first considering going to work for Emmett, to kissing him, to making the decision to pursue a relationship, to having the kids call her Mommy.

_ Angela POV _

“So you’re looking for a childcare job then?” Bella set a mug of tea down in front of me and took a seat across from me at her kitchen table.

“Thank you…yes, I thought I’d rather go back to childcare. After looking after Mom at home I’m a little burned out on elder care to be honest, and I’ve really missed working with kids.”

I took a sip of the tea, swallowing down the lump in my throat. I knew that moving Mom into the assisted living facility the previous week was the right choice, that her Alzheimer’s had progressed far beyond the point at which I could provide an adequate level of care on my own, but the thought of it still felt like a raw wound.

“I need something to keep me busy, and on a practical level I need to earn some money,” I said with a forced smile. “Josh and Isaac are helping out with Mom’s care fees, and I want to contribute too. The house will probably have to be sold eventually, but if I’m earning money I can keep it up and maintain things for now too.”

“Were you thinking of a childcare centre, or another nanny job?”

I shrugged. “Either would be fine. I’d probably prefer a nannying job if it was the _right_ nannying job, but I haven’t found much available in the area and I don’t want to move away from Mom. There’s a childcare centre over on Sycamore Street that is looking for new staff though, so I might apply there.”

“Well if you want a nanny job, I think Esme has convinced Emmett that a nanny is what he needs,” Bella said carefully. “You’d be perfect for them. If you were interested, I could give them your number – I know they’d be happy to talk to you.”

Emmett, Bella’s brother-in-law. I remembered him from high school, a big, likeable goofball with a dimpled grin and an easy way with people. He and Rosalie, who he would later marry, had been part of the popular crowd of athletes and cheerleaders, kind of an unattainable dream of coolness and confidence to the quiet geeks like me. Emmett had always been friendly though, and although Rosalie moved through the world like she owned it he had always seemed a bit more down to earth. I hadn’t kept in touch with either of them since high school, but Bella had always kept me vaguely up to date on what they doing and I knew that Rosalie’s recent death left Emmett a widow with several young children.

“Emmett wants a nanny? He has a lot of kids doesn’t he, and aren’t they all pretty young?” I tried to remember.

Bella nodded. “Daisy’s eight, Mac and Noah are six, Bram and Zeke are twelve months and Holly’s basically a newborn.”

“ _Three_ babies? And two sets of twins? What kind of chaos is that?!?!”

“I know!” Bella giggled. “Pretty chaotic, I’ve got to admit! But the kids are really great. Smart and funny and cute, and Holly’s honestly the easiest baby in the world. Edward and I have had her over here a bit to give Emmett a break and she’s an absolute dream. The big kids are in school so it would only be the three littles to care for half the day, and as I said, they’re all really good kids. You’d love them…but look, I understand if you’re not interested. I know you’ve got a lot going on with your Mom, and it would be a big job. Please don’t feel like I’m pressuring you into this.”

“No, I don’t…I’m interested,” I said slowly. “Do you know more about what he’s looking for?”

“Emmett doesn’t know what he’s looking for.” Bella hesitated. “He’s not…he’s not doing great. He hasn’t been back to work since Rosalie died, and we all think that getting back to it will be good for him. Esme looked into group childcare, but nowhere could take three babies so Emmett would be juggling multiple childcare centres plus after school care for the older ones plus Daisy’s gymnastics…you can see how difficult it would be. Not to mention the cost of it all.”

I nodded. “It sounds like a nightmare.”

“Exactly. Esme and I talked it over, and our idea was that the nanny – maybe you? – would work from late morning to early evening. Emmett would get the kids off to school and spend time with the babies and doing the housework, then the nanny would take over with the babies while he went to work. Emmett would be home for dinner, but we thought if the nanny stayed until later they could help with cooking and bath time and homework and even some of the bed time routines. So there would be some cooking too, and I guess maybe some laundry or cleaning up toys, but mostly childcare.”

“Does Emmett agree?” I couldn’t help noticing that Bella had been talking about what she and Esme had decided, not what Emmett wanted.

“He _is_ a bit ambivalent about it,” Bella said honestly. “After they had Daisy Emmett switched to working part time so he would be home with the kids several days each week. Esme looked after them the rest of the time, and Rosalie did flex-time for a while, but mostly it was Emmett. He did baby gym, and Mommy and Me music and dance, and he babysat Eliza one day a week for me for two years…he’s a really good, really hands-on dad. But he always worked part time, and I think he knows that something has to change from how it is right now. He’s spent two months sitting at home with the kids, wearing sweatpants and crying and drinking…” Bella’s eyes suddenly shone with tears. “It’s awful to see him like this. We all understand, but we’re also all worried sick about him.”

“Grief is hard,” I said softly.

Bella nodded. “I know. Emmett’s living through one of the worst things I can imagine and believe me, none of us are judging him for not handling things perfectly. But it’s been two months, and something has to give. He loves his work, and we’re kind of hoping that getting back to making art and being around people will help him find his way. He just needs to find someone to look after the kids – Esme’s been helping out a lot, but she can’t do it fulltime forever. Edward and I have been helping with Holly and I’ve been doing what I can with cooking for them too, but with another baby on the way I can’t commit to anything either.” She touched her stomach with an unhappy look. “We haven’t even told Emmett about the baby. He’ll try his best to be happy for us, but I know it’s going to feel like we’re kicking him when he’s down to announce a pregnancy when theirs just ended in tragedy.”

That was a feeling I knew all too well. That wild, unnameable pain of hearing that someone else was going to be blessed with a baby when my arms were forever empty…I felt a sudden kinship with Emmett Cullen.

“Well if he wants a nanny, I’ll talk to him and see what he says,” I said. “I’m not promising anything, but I’m interested.”

“That’s great!” Bella grinned. “Thank you for at least considering it. I know it would be hard work, but the kids…they need someone like you. They’re so young, and they’ve all just lost their mom. They need someone who’s going to love them.” She grabbed her phone. “I’m just going to text Esme. She’s kind of running Emmett’s life right now, so I’ll give you her number and you can give her a call later on and find out some more details.”

__________________________

Before I had a chance to call her, Esme Cullen called me. She was warm and friendly, and although the conversation was clearly halfway to a job interview it felt almost like friends chatting as we discussed my qualifications and experience and she outlined what they were looking for. I didn’t make any commitment, but I agreed to meet with her and Emmett in a couple of days and talk about it more.

The truth was, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted the job or not. I could see how it might be a good fit; Emmett needed someone desperately and I knew I was a good nanny. I worked hard, and I knew I could offer him and his kids the kind of caregiving and help that would make their lives better. The salary Mrs Cullen mentioned was really good money, and working the hours she suggested would give me plenty of time to see my mom in the mornings, which was always her best time. I liked the idea of a long-term role, and with the kids being so young and Mrs Cullen’s desire for them to have security, the potential was there for the job to last years.

It wasn’t the work that frightened me either. Six very young kids would be a lot, and I knew it would be busy and exhausting. But that would be almost a plus, I thought a little dismally, as I looked around the quiet and empty house and felt the loneliness pushing in on me. If I would be spending nine hours a day running around after six kids, I’d be so tired by the time I got home I wouldn’t have the energy to miss my mom or do anything other than crawl into bed and go to sleep.

But it was the emotional weight that scared me. A family still reeling in the aftermath of a shocking and tragic bereavement. Little kids who’d lost their mommy. A dad who had lost his wife and was, by all accounts, “not doing great”…what exactly did that mean? I didn’t know if Bella realised that she told me Emmett had been drinking a lot, but the thought of it nagged at me. I had always loved the kids I nannied for and if I went to work for the Cullens I knew I’d love those kids too, and I didn’t want to be put in a position where I cared the most. I couldn’t work with an emotionally checked out single dad who drank too much, no matter how much I might understand his grief. 

Feeling only slightly guilty, the night before the interview I turned on my laptop and did some internet stalking. Emmett was easy to find on social media, he had public profiles on several sites, but it was all dedicated to his work. Scrolling through his feed I was amazed by the beauty of his art. Emmett’s tattoos were absolutely nothing like the disaster I stupidly let some hack tattoo on my back when I was in college!

I hesitated before I searched for Rosalie. For some reason looking for her felt more invasive than typing in Emmett’s name. But I did it anyway, and when her Facebook profile popped up I went to it.

No one had done anything to it. It was still active and, although no one had left an announcement or made it into an official memorial page, the last photo she posted had hundreds of comments expressing people’s love and shock and grief at her passing. I read through some of them, feeling my heart ache. It still seemed impossible to think that the Rosalie Hale I went to school with from elementary school was dead.

I enlarged the final photo to take a closer look. It was taken on Halloween, and I couldn’t help smiling at the entire family dressed up. I knew it couldn’t have been taken very long before Rosalie died because she was massively pregnant, a skeleton painted t-shirt (including a life-size skeletal foetus) stretched over her giant belly. I remembered being that pregnant and feeling like hell, but in the pictures Rosalie was smiling and looked as effortlessly beautiful as she ever did. Even pregnant she looked like a supermodel, not at all like I would have expected a pregnant, working mom of five kids to look like.

I thought the man in the furry grey onesie at her side must be Emmett, although with his face skilfully painted into a mask of a wolf it was actually impossible to tell. He was holding two matching blue haired babies in red in red suits in his arms, and I recognised them as Thing One and Thing Two from Dr Seuss. One of the bigger kids was dressed up at Spiderman, one was a tiger, and the last one a red panda. They all had their faces painted in a way that looked professional, and it occurred to me that if Emmett face painted as well as he tattooed he probably did it himself.

I scrolled through to Rosalie’s other photos, wanting to see what they all looked like without the crazy costume make up. There weren’t that many, I guessed Rosalie either kept most things private or she was so busy she didn’t Facebook much, but there was a family photo taken by a pool that gave me a better look at everyone. Rosalie was pregnant there too, but her belly in a bikini was much smaller than the Halloween photo. Emmett didn’t look like he’d changed much since high school. The kids were adorable. The baby twins were so alike I couldn’t pick a single difference, and with their dark curls and dimples it was easy to tell who their dad was. One of the older twins was similar, with rumpled dark curls and a mischievous dimpled grin. The other boy clearly took after Rosalie, with fair hair and high cheekbones. Their oldest, a daughter, was blonde too but tiny, barely bigger than her younger brothers even though I knew from Bella that she was two years older.

Scrolling back, I stopped at a pregnancy announcement photo. Emmett and Rosalie were laughing, his hands curved around her belly, a number six balloon floating above them. Judging from the date she posted it, Rosalie must have been nearly halfway through the pregnancy and I wondered why they kept it a secret so long. Rosalie was glowing, the two of them obviously beyond happy and completely in love with each other. Looking at them, it felt impossible to believe it ended the way it did, with Rosalie dead, the baby motherless, and Emmett alone. Feeling oddly restless and anxious I closed down the window, feeling almost like I had seen something I shouldn’t have.

_______________________________________________

I was nervous as I drove out to Emmett’s house. What if they didn’t want to hire me after they met me? What if they _did_ want to hire me, and I decided I didn’t want the job? What if I accepted it and then didn’t get along with Emmett? Or the kids were monsters? I was sorely tempted to just turn around and drive myself right back home, but as Emmett’s driveway appeared I gave myself a quick mental shake and a stern talking-to. This was just a job interview, that was all. _Just see how it goes before you get all worked up!_

Emmett’s place was only a short distance out of town, a rambling farmhouse on a large block of land. There were bikes and toys in the yard, and a trampoline and swing set in the field behind the house. I thought it probably backed on to the river that ran through town, and that this would be a pretty good home for a kid to grow up in.

Being careful not to run over any toys I parked beside a minivan, before taking a deep breath and getting out of the car. As I reached the steps that led up to the porch the front door opened and Emmett stepped out, a baby held in one crooked arm. “Hey.”

He smiled at me, and somehow all my fears about the job faded away. Emmett _could_ have been intimidating. He was physically imposing, several inches taller than I was (which, given that I was six foot one, was very tall!) and broad enough that his shoulders almost filled the doorway. But when he smiled at me his dimples showed, and the tender way he cradled the baby and the relaxed and trusting way she lay along his arm told me everything I need to know about Emmett as a dad. In that instant, I knew that I would take the job if he offered it to me.

“Emmett…I would have recognised you anywhere. You look exactly the same.”

He laughed. “I don’t know, I think my mirror tells me something different...come on in. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for talking to me. I’m really sorry about Rosalie,” I said. It seemed better to bring the subject up first and get it out in the open, rather than tiptoe around it. We both knew I wouldn’t be there if Rosalie was.

“Thanks.” A muscle twitched in Emmett’s jaw, but at the same time I also saw him relax slightly and knew I had made the right call. I had always hated people avoiding the subject of Micah, of letting their own awkwardness be the driving factor in how we talked or didn’t talk about him, and I thought maybe Emmett was the same way.

“And this is Holly?” I leaned towards the baby, who was almost irresistibly beautiful. Her perfect bow lips, rosy cheeks and enormous blue eyes made her look like an anime character. “Hello little one…she’s beautiful Emmett. How old is she now?” In relation to Emmett’s massive arm the baby looked tiny, but close up she wasn’t completely brand new.

“Two months.” Emmett turned and led the way into the house, kicking aside a tow truck and a couple of plastic dinosaurs, and then a pair of little-kid-sized sneakers. “Sorry I didn’t pick up a bit more, it’s not usually…well, no.” He stopped and looked back at me with a rueful face. “You may as well know what you’re getting in to, if you decide you want this job – my house is always _at least_ this messy.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You’ve got six kids- I was expecting a lot worse to be honest!”

In fact the house was really nice. It looked like an older style farmhouse from the outside, but the interior had obviously been redone and was brighter and airier than I had expected. The walls and trim were painted light colours, and the floor was a deep golden polished wood that flowed through the hallway and into a large and comfortable living room. The furniture was all stylish and the whole room looked like it had been put together by a decorator, but it was also clearly designed to be comfortable. The colourful rug and the children’s toys and the baby equipment made the room look lived in and welcoming.

Speaking of welcoming, Mrs Cullen greeted me with a hug, passing a baby bottle to Emmett behind my back as she did so. “Angela, hello! I remember you from Camden; you were in the orchestra with Edward…woodwind section? Was it flute or clarinet?”

“You’ve got a good memory! I played the flute.” I remembered Mrs Cullen too though. She came to all our performances and, on more than one occasion, embarrassed Edward by appearing at the end of rehearsal with homemade cookies. “It’s great to see you again Mrs Cullen.”

“Please call me Esme. Do you still play?” She gestured for me to sit on the sofa.

As I sat, I couldn’t help watching Emmett. He sat in a recliner armchair, gently tucking Holly into the crook of his arm and kissing her forehead before he offered her the bottle. Such a tiny gesture, but the tenderness and care of it made quite clear how very much Emmett loved his baby.

“Dad always liked me to play at church so I kept it up a little, but I haven’t played for a while,” I answered Esme, before I said to Emmett, “I don’t know if you remember, but my dad was a minister. He died a few months ago, and I came back to town to help my mother.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“My mom’s just gone into a nursing home, so she’s settled now and I’m looking to get back to work.” I desperately tried to keep my tone matter of fact and not show how much the decision still hurt. Not wanting to think about it, I reached into my bag and brought out the copy of my resume that I had brought with me. “I’ve printed out a copy of my resume, which has my qualifications and all my references so you can check them. I’ve explained all this to Esme on the phone, but I grew up looking after my twin brothers and babysitting around the neighbourhood. I worked at a childcare centre during college, where I studied early childhood education. After graduation I worked as a nanny for seven years; I stayed with my first family for just over two years, then almost five years with my last family – I still keep in touch with them all and their numbers are in my list of references. My next job was at a child care centre, I spent time working in all of their rooms and was in charge of the infant room when I left there. I took some time off and then took a job in an aged care facility, where I stayed until my father passed and I came home.”

“From one end of the spectrum to the other,” Emmet commented. “Babies to old folks…it would have been a bit of a switch.”

“Well it was a high-care aged facility, so it still involved diapers and blended food at times,” I said lightly. “I needed a change and I enjoyed my time there, but I really missed working with kids and I’m ready to get back to childcare again.”

“Well, that could be lucky for us,” Esme said. “Now, you and I discussed most of this when we talked on the phone, but you’re still happy with the hours being between eleven in the morning and eight at night? You’d have sole responsibility for the babies during the day, and the older children once the bus drops them off after school. Generally speaking, Emmett will be home by six, and we thought that if you stayed for another couple of hours after that to help with getting dinner, homework, baths and bedtime done that would be ideal. It _is_ a nine hour day; I know that’s a long time, especially with so many children. But I thought we could start with that, and perhaps have a probationary period of a couple of months and then reassess.”

“It won’t be nine hours every day,” Emmett interjected. “I mean, it depends a bit on my bookings, but some days you’ll be able to start later or leave earlier. Especially to begin with.”

“I think it’ll be fine. I’m happy to be flexible around that basic schedule,” I said.

“Wonderful,” Esme said. “As I said on the phone, your primary task will be childcare, with some light housework only as it pertains to the children – picking up toys, loading things into the dishwasher, switching laundry from the washer to dryer…that sort of thing. You’ll have to make lunch for the babies, and dinner meal prep will be something that you and Emmett will have to work out. Of course you’ll be provided with all the food and snacks you want here too. I was thinking that we might try and make a weekly menu plan? Organise grocery delivery so that the ingredients are on hand?” She looked at me a little worriedly.

“I’d love to help with that,” I said. “I really enjoy cooking. As part of my early childhood degree I studied nutrition, and when I worked at my childcare centre I was involved in developing the meal plan.” Hoping I sounded like a capable adult he wanted to trust with his children, I smiled at Emmett. “We can talk about what you and the kids like to eat, and I’ll see what I can figure out.”

“That sounds great. Daisy’s kind of picky, but Mac and Noah aren’t too fussy and I eat anything,” he said.

“What you want to do with the children during the day will be basically up to you,” Esme went on. “The little ones don’t have any organised activities at the moment, but you’ll have access to the minivan with their car seats and if you’re comfortable doing so you’re more than welcome to take them to the park or the library or baby gym. The school bus drops the older children off at the end of the driveway so you’ll have to be home for that, but you won’t have to do a school run. Daisy has gymnastics three days a week, but she walks to the gym after school and Emmett will pick her up and bring her home so that’s nothing for you to worry about. We’ll work out other activities like baseball when it’s needed.”

I nodded. I liked the idea of having so much autonomy in a job. “I’m sure once we all get to know each other I’ll be happy to take them out sometimes. You’ve got lots of space outside here too, and I saw the trampoline and the swing set and the outdoor toys when I drove in.”

“We own the field out there that goes down to the river,” Emmett told me. “Bram and Zeke are still kind of little, they’ve only been walking for a few weeks, but the other kids have always liked throwing sticks into the water and taking the walking path along the stream. At the moment the little twins nap for a couple of hours after lunch every day. Holly’s still kind of all over the place, but we’ve been trying to get her into a routine where she’ll sleep at the same time – hopefully that’ll happen soon so you’ll get something of a break each day.”

“That would be good, and I’ll work with you towards getting Holly into a settled routine, but I won’t expect it to begin with. She’s still so young. And Esme and I discussed an hourly rate of pay that takes into account a lack of regular breaks. I know that nannying isn’t a strict nine-to-five job.”

Emmett put aside the empty bottle and lifted the baby up to his shoulder, rubbing her back until she burped. Once again he kissed her almost unthinkingly, as he said softly, “She’s an easy baby. Really; she hardly cries, just sleeps and eat and watches the other kids and smiles whenever anyone looks at her. Isn’t that true, little Jellybean?” He shifted a little uncomfortably and then said in a rush, “They’re all good kids. I mean, it’ll be hard work, but…they’re good kids. It’s just that there’s a lot of them, and the little twins are hitting that crazy toddler stage where it’s like they’re trying to kill themselves any time you turn your back. Holly needs you for everything but at least she can’t run away if you put her down somewhere. The older kids are dealing with losing their mom and that’s really hard for them, so there’s been some acting out, but mostly they’re all just smart and cute and funny as hell. Rosalie taught them all how to behave right from the day they were born, so they won’t give you trouble…not any more trouble than you’d expect from eight and six and one year olds and newborns anyway.”

“They do need a lot of love and support right now, as they deal with their grief,” Esme added. “Losing their mother was a terrible blow, and they’ve all had their sense of security badly shaken. We feel that a consistent, regular carer here at home would be the best thing for them, and Bella couldn’t speak more highly of you. So having said all that…are you still interested?”

“Yes, definitely. And I think…in the interests of honesty…I want you to know that I had a child.” My heart thumped as the image of my beloved little boy rose up in my mind and the forever pain of his death stung at my heart. But Emmett’s loss was an open wound, and I found myself wanting to share my own.

“Micah.” I still loved the sound of his name on my tongue. “I moved from nannying to group care so I could take him to work with me. But when he was almost four he was killed in a car accident. That’s really why I stopped doing child care and went to aged care – after losing Micah I just couldn’t spend my days taking care of other people’s kids when I didn’t have mine. I really do feel ready to go back to it now, and I’d love to nanny for the same family long term again. I just wanted you to know…I understand a little about grief.”

“I’m sorry about your son.” Emmett’s words were simple, and I felt his sincerity.

“Thank you.”

Emmett ran a hand over Holly’s flyaway curls and grinned at me over her head, forcing the lightness back to his face as he said, “I guess the only thing left to say is…when can you start?”

The relief rushed through me, and my smile was spontaneous and genuine. “Whenever you want.”

“Maybe you can start next week? I don’t really have too much lined up, but you could come for a couple of hours each day and just kind…get comfortable with the kids? Get them comfortable with you?” Emmett looked suddenly embarrassed. “I mean, I’m sure you’re great and everything, but they’ve only ever stayed with me or Rosalie or Esme really.”

“That’s all right,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. I was hardly offended; asking someone to look after his babies would be a huge leap of faith, and of course he wanted to make sure I was going to do a good job. “Whatever you think.”

Esme glanced at her watch and rose to her feet. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to dash off. Mac and Daisy and Noah will be dropped off soon; would you like to stay and meet them this afternoon, Angela? Emmett can show you around while you’re waiting and give you more of an idea of what you’re in for.”

“That’d be great.” I was relieved Mrs Cullen had made the suggestion that I might stay and meet the kids; I was really keen to get to know them and get some insight on what the actual job was going to be like. I smiled at her gratefully. “Thank you for everything, Mrs Cullen.”

“Oh, thank _you_. I’m so pleased. And you’ll be seeing a lot of me, no doubt- there will be evenings when Emmett works late and Carlisle or I will be the ones here with you.” Esme hugged Emmett briskly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The silence after she left dragged on into awkwardness. Emmett seemed sunk in gloom, stroking Holly’s hair and staring down at her, while I desperately tried to think of something to say. Finally I went with the safe compliment, although really I just wanted to break the silence. “Your house is really lovely.”

“Oh, thanks.” Emmett raised his head. “It’s actually the house I grew up in, although this part’s new. We did a big remodel about six months ago where we extended this living room and built on a new master suite and converted the attic to bedrooms. I’ll put Holly in her bassinet and show you round before the kids get home.”

Unfortunately, Holly’s bassinet was in Emmett’s bedroom and the awkwardness only intensified as I trailed after him into his personal space. It didn’t help that the room was less ‘lived-in’ and more ‘total mess’, with an unmade bed and clothing that was both Emmett’s and various children’s strewn everywhere. I wasn’t judging, it was probably more like what I’d imagined grief-stricken-single-dad-of-six would be living with, but Emmett was clearly mortified.

“This is my room,” he muttered, expertly swaddling the baby into a burrito and laying her in her bed. “Although I usually end up with company most nights. Mostly Noah, sometimes Mac or Daisy. I have Holly in here too, just because it’s easier, but she has her own room and I’ll move her bassinet in there when you’re looking after her so you don’t have to come in here.”

“She’s really adorable. The last family I nannied for had a newborn and I really loved watching him grow.” I hesitated for a moment and then figured I may as well address Emmett’s obvious discomfort with me being here. “I know that it probably feels strange for you to have me here, and it might take a while for you to be really comfortable with this arrangement. I get that. But I really am here to help.”

Emmett tucked a stuffed zebra in at the baby’s feet and then bundled together some of the clothes and tossed them unerringly into a hamper. “Yeah, sorry if I’m a bit off. I just never…this wasn’t exactly the way I expected I’d have to do things, you know?”

“I definitely understand that.” In more ways than I cared to think about.

Emmett led me out of his room and unlatched a baby gate so we could go upstairs. It was a converted attic space, with a spacious landing and two bedrooms leading off it. Emmett waved vaguely at the bookcase and storage unit on the landing. “We keep most of the books and all the toys that we don’t want the babies to get at up here – Lego and board games and that kind of thing, and that cabinet has piles of craft stuff and play-doh and all that. You can take anything out that you want to use, it’s just here so it’s out of reach and they can’t ruin things or hurt themselves. That’s Daisy’s room, and Mac and Noah share.”

My mouth fell open in astonishment as I peeked into the first bedroom, where all four walls were painted with the most incredible undersea mural I had ever seen. Gazing around, I thought I could look at it for hours and still find something new in the intricate design. There were fish and an octopus, a pod of dolphins, forests of kelp and a coral reef with a magical mermaid castle, and the way the light was painted falling through the water it almost looked like it was moving.

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” I blurted out. “I remember you were always drawing at high school and I know you tattoo, but I didn’t know…this looks fantastic!”

Emmett looked pleased. “Thanks. I’ve done all the kids’ rooms...it’s a bit over the top, but they chose what they wanted and they like it. Daisy has this, and Mac and Noah next door went with space. Holly’s room still has the woodland mural I first did when Daisy was born, and Bram and Zeke have an Antarctica thing. You’ll see in a sec, I think I hear them now.”

Emmett’s tour sped up a bit, as we heard some baby sounds from down below. I followed him down the stairs and through the rest of the house.

“Okay, this is the kitchen. That’s the door to the basement; the laundry is down there. The spare room – my drafting table is in there, and the printer and a sofa bed and the computer and basically everything that we don’t want the kids to touch. If you have a purse or whatever that you don’t want the kids to get at it’s probably safest in there. This is Holly’s room. She doesn’t sleep in here yet, although like I said I’ll put the bassinet in here or you can transition her to the crib or whatever, but her clothes and spare diapers and stuff are all in the closet and the dresser. The kids’ bathroom is here. And Bram and Zeke…hey my dudes.”

The twins were identical bundles of adorableness, beaming at Emmett from a mattress on the floor as he unlatched the baby gate in their doorway.

“They sleep together on the floor, so we just gate the room off so they can’t escape,” he said to me, as he dropped to his knees by the bed.

I knelt down beside him and smiled at the little boys, who were looking at me with bright eyed curiosity. “Hello Bram and Zeke…which one is which, Emmett? They’re so similar! Is there an easy trick to telling them apart?” On first glance, I couldn’t see a single difference.

“Not really,” Emmett said apologetically, reaching for a couple of diapers and grabbing a baby. The other boy grabbed the spare diaper and crawled rapidly away, then sat up and pulled the diaper over his head.

“I mean, once you’re familiar with them it’s easy but it’s really a lot of little things…this one is Bram, and his hair grows back from his forehead a bit more and his chin is kind of different and he’s got a deeper dimple but…yeah, I’ll just draw on them again for you. We colour coded them for the first four months of their lives with Sharpie dots on their hands so we could tell them apart.”

I laughed. “Good idea. I’ll learn though…won’t I Zeke?” I held out a hand to the baby wearing the diaper on his head like a bonnet and made a mental note that Zeke was in the red onesie and Bram was the one in green. “Should I start helping Daddy by changing your diaper? What do you think? Is that okay?”

Zeke considered me for a moment, and then handed me the diaper and let me lay him down beside his brother. I unsnapped his onesie and tickled his belly until he laughed, and then shoulder by shoulder with Emmett we changed diapers, and I started making the job mine.

_____________________________________

“…happy birthday dear Bram and Zeke, happy birthday to you!”

The little twins leaned forward and, in perfect unison, blew out the two candles they each had burning in a cake in front of them.

“Yay!” Zeke crowed. “All gone!”

Bram looked pleadingly up at Emmett. “Again? Blow again?”

“There’s enough spit on these cakes as it is.” Emmett reached in between the boys and lifted the plates quickly out of their reach, carrying them over to the counter and reaching for a knife. “Let’s eat.”

“You can compliment Daisy on the cakes,” I said, as everyone began to eat. “She baked them pretty much single-handedly.”

“You did an excellent job, Daisy,” Carlisle said around a mouthful, and Daisy’s face shone with pleasure.

“Angie taught me,” she said, and the two of us grinned at each other. We’d been working through my mom’s old Women’s Church Auxiliary cookbook together, and Daisy had become quite the baker.

“I can’t believe they’re two.” Bella, squashed in at the end of the table with baby Rob on her lap, looked at Bram and Zeke and shook her head. “It feels like only yesterday they were just this big.” She kissed Rob’s red hair.

Emmett laughed. “I know! I still remember looking at them under the microscope before the IVF transfer. They were still one embryo then, and a pretty dubious looking one at that apparently – they warned us the chances weren’t great, but it was our last shot so we went with it anyway. And look what we got!”

I smiled too, looking at the two identical faces covered in cake in front of me and feeling the familiar rush of love. I was always conscious of what my role was (and wasn’t) in the family, but I couldn’t control my heart – it was so much more than a job to me, and I loved the two little boys.

Over everyone’s chatter I caught the sound of a truck in the drive and hastily swallowed the last of my cake. “I think that’s Steve coming now. I can hear his truck.”

I jumped up and hurried outside. I’d asked my neighbour Steve to deliver my birthday gifts to the little twins, which were my brothers’ old twin beds that I’d refinished and sewn new quilts for. The beds had been hand built and had headboards carved into a Noah’s ark scene, and with some new polish and a bit of hard work they had come up beautifully.

“You didn’t say they were this amazing!” Emmett grinned at me as he and Steve manoeuvred the second bed into the twins’ room and slid it into the corner. He grabbed the mattress that had been delivered earlier and flopped it down onto the slatted base, before running his hand appreciatively over the carved headboard. “Are you sure your brothers aren’t going to want these for their own kids?”

“I asked, and they said no.” I smoothed the sheet into place and spread the quilt out. “I’m glad you like them! Dad had them made by a friend who did wooden relief carvings for the church and things like that. I just refinished them.”

Bram scrambled onto the freshly made bed, reaching for the carving. “Nanimals!” he exclaimed delightedly. “Nanimals boat….nanimals bed mine!”

“That’s right.” I sat beside him and traced my fingers over the lines in the wood. “Look, there’s a giraffe, and an elephant…”

“Lelephant,” Bram repeated. “Cat…meow! And lion…raawwwrr!”

Zeke ran into the room and hurled himself onto the bed with Bram. “Raawrr!” he roared, mashing his hand against the lion.

Emmett grinned at me. “I think they’re happy with their present. And fingers crossed that being in separate beds and unable to kick each other awake at all hours of the night means they’ll sleep better!”

I hoped so, for his sake. Emmett had told me that as babies Bram and Zeke slept better when they were together, so they ended up sharing a crib and then the mattress on the floor. However as mischievous toddlers that state of affairs was no longer the case! I got to go home every evening, but Emmett had to deal with them getting up and down all night. When I’d asked him about giving the boys the beds, he’d agreed without hesitation. I thought he was probably just desperate for anything that might help them sleep better.

It seemed like a forlorn hope when bedtime came around that evening though! It was my turn to do the bedtime routine with the older kids, and even from upstairs I could hear Bram and Zeke shrieking and laughing and thumping around. When Mac and Noah were in bed listening to their storytime podcast and Daisy was tucked up comfortably with a book, I headed back downstairs and scooped Holly up from the living room. Changing her diaper in her room, there were several thuds from next door as one of the twins careened into a wall, and I couldn’t help laughing a little as I heard Emmett’s exasperated tones.

“Stop it! Lie down! It’s bedtime! Bram! Don’t do that! Zeke…I said bedtime! LIE DOWN!”

“This looks like it’s going well.” I stopped in the doorway, Holly on my hip, just in time to see Zeke bouncing from one bed to the other like he was at the trampoline park. “The big kids are all in bed.”

“Anya!” Bram stood on his head and beamed at me from between his legs. “Bedtime!”

I didn’t think he’d ever looked so wide awake. I supposed the two pieces of cake and cup of special occasion soda had him wired.

Emmett tipped Bram over onto his back. “It’s going great,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you let me take over here while you give Holly her milk and put her to bed?”

“Gladly…they’re all yours.” Emmett rose to his feet and reached for Holly. “Come on Jellybean, let’s leave the troublemakers to Anya.”

As Emmett left I pulled the door almost closed, to block out more of the hallway light.

“Oooh,” Bram said. “Dark now.”

“That’s because it’s bedtime.” I sat on the floor in between the beds.

“Bedtime in big boy bed!” Zeke bounced gleefully on his bed. “Night-night!”

Sugar rush number two, I thought dryly.

“That’s right…night-night for birthday boys in their nice new big boy beds,” I agreed. “Lie down and I’ll make you all cosy with your nice new quilts.”

“Mow-Mow bedtime.” Bram kissed his stuffed cat on its dirty little pink nose. “Night-night.”

“New shoes wake up!” Zeke, who had surrendered the previously shared cat in favour of his new Paw Patrol sneakers, banged them hard against the bed in an attempt to make them light up. “Wake up!”

“No, bedtime for everyone and everything,” I said “Bedtime for shoes, and bedtime for Mow-Mow…bedtime for Daisy and Mac and Noah, bedtime for Holly, bedtime for Bram and Zeke…lie quietly now and I can tell you a story.”

The stories they liked were always the same simple plots, about a pair of little brothers called Thing One and Thing Two who liked to go on picnics and eat long lists of Bram and Zeke’s favourite foods, ride miniature donkeys, and who often fell off into puddles, which was the height of comedy to the little twins. They seemed to be settling down, but when Emmett had fed Holly and put her in her crib and reappeared in the doorway, both of them popped up like jack-in-the-boxes.

“It’s bedtime,” Emmett said firmly. “You need to lie down.”

He came in and let himself down to the floor beside me. I could feel the warmth of him, the two of us shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh in the small space between the beds, and the answering flush on my cheek. I hoped he didn’t notice.

“Mine nanimals bed. Mine big boy bed.” Bram’s big blue eyes looked at me over the edge of his quilt.

Zeke flopped back onto his pillow, hugging his sneakers to his chest. “Anya sing?” he requested.

“Okay…close your eyes.” I stroked his curly hair away from his forehead and started singing softly. The same hymns that I sang Micah to sleep with, the same songs that my mother sang to me.

“Bram’s out.” Emmett’s voice was quiet in the silence that fell when my song ended.

“Zeke’s asleep too.”

“Happy birthday little buddy,” Emmett whispered, kissing Bram’s forehead. He leaned across me, reaching to touch Zeke’s hair too. “Sleep tight.”

And again, I felt it. The physical reality of Emmett so close to me, and the way I reacted to it. I could tell myself all I liked that he was my boss, that he was my employer, that we were friends and that I looked after his children and that was all there was to it…but then there were those moments, and I knew that I was lying to myself.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Emmett commented, gently working the sneakers free from Zeke’s grasp. The pattern of the sole was imprinted on his cheek. “Although I remember my momma telling me once that I slept with a baseball bat when I was little…that might be worse than a shoe.”

I took the sneakers from his hands and lined them up on the edge of the bed, where Zeke would see them when he woke. “He’s so funny. I’m really glad that they like their new beds too – it seemed like a funny kind of gift, but I worked on the refinishing for ages and I’d rather see them being used and loved by my little twins than strangers.” My cheeks burned as I realised what I’d said. “I mean… _your_ little twins.”

Emmett was still half leaning over me, and when he turned his head to look at me our faces were suddenly shockingly close together. His eyes, dark in the dim room, drew me irresistibly towards him and I couldn’t look away, even as my heartbeat quickened and my breath seemed to catch in my throat. _Emmett…_

“They’re yours too,” he said, and the slight hoarseness in his tone betrayed the emotion behind his words. “In a different way, but…I don’t mind if you call them yours. You’ve earned that with the way you are with…I see how much you love them, how much you give of yourself to all the kids, to this family…”

But his words trailed away, because he felt it too. Whatever it was that had been drifting between us, wrapping us in nebulous tendrils of hints and feelings and longing, suddenly strengthened until it was undeniable. And then, without another word, Emmett tilted his head forward and kissed me.

_Emmett…_

I had thought about this moment many times before it happened. Only ever when I was alone, late at night and in the dark, so that when the sun came back up it was easy to pretend that it was nothing more than a dream. Easy to pretend that I didn’t really want this impossible thing the way I did.

There were a thousand reasons why it shouldn’t happen. A thousand reasons why Emmett and I would not work, a thousand reasons why I should have avoided the situation in the first place, a thousand reasons why I should have pulled away…and only one reason that I didn’t. I wanted him.

_Emmett…_

Kissing him was overwhelming. Almost more than I’d ever felt, a dizzying moment of losing myself in him, the pounding beat of his heart throbbing under my palm as I laid a hand on his chest. I reached up and touched his face, his skin impossibly soft under the prickliness of his stubble, as he twined his hands in my hair and breathed my name against my lips.

_Emmett…_

I didn’t know what might happen. I wasn’t thinking at all, not beyond the powerful rush of desire filling my body. But then one of the little boys stirred, rolling over in his sleep before settling back into slumber, and suddenly reality was there again.

_Emmett…_

I said his name, low and halting. He knew what I meant, I think, but he shook his head and kissed me again, begging with more than just words, before pulling me to my feet. “Please…please…”

We stumbled out of little twins’ room, still wrapped in each others arms, kissing frantically. I was trying desperately to recapture the dizzying bliss of it, go back to that place of not thinking, of just _being_ with him, but I could feel it slipping away. And then he took me to the door of his bedroom and everything faltered and I knew it would all come to nothing.

Because it wasn’t just Emmett’s room.

Everywhere I looked, all I saw was Rosalie. It was like she’d only just stepped out and was expected to return at any moment, her books and watch left on the bedside table and a scatter of jewellery on the dresser, even a pink hoodie tossed over the back of a chair. Only the dust on her things spoke to the fact that she had been gone longer than a day.

And I _understood_ , I really did. I remembered Micah’s room in those devastating, silent months after his death. All his clothes, folded and hung neatly where they belonged, the toys jumbled in his toybox, the last book we read still lying on the end of the bed, the little row of feathers and acorns and interesting rocks that he liked to collect on our walks all lined up his dresser just the way he’d left them. Everything kept as it was, as I clung desperately to what I could not bear to let go, even as I knew I had already lost it.

So I understood the presence of Rosalie in Emmett’s room, but just as I could not have put another child into Micah’s room, I could not be the other woman in Rosalie’s room.

“Emmett…we can’t.”

“Angela…I…you…” His eyes were wide and almost panicked as he reached towards me.

I wanted to go to him. I wanted to grab his shaking hands and kiss that beautifully full lower lip, throw myself into his arms and let whatever happened, happen. I wanted that so badly! But I knew it would be a mistake, and numbly I shook my head.

“I can’t. I’m so sorry…but this isn’t…look around Emmett, this is still Rosalie’s room. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” I turned away before he could see the tears gathering in my eyes, and I almost ran down the hallway away from him and out to my car.

I don’t know how I got home. But I was barely through the front door before the misery rose up to choke me and the tears overflowed, and I curled up on the sofa in the dark living room and sobbed.

It felt like I’d been given a gift, only to open the packaging and find it empty. Emmett kissing me, Emmett wanting me…it had been beautiful, and it felt like everything, and it had been worse than nothing. Because kissing him had dragged everything I pretended I didn’t feel right out into the open and forced me to confront it, and the truth was heartbreaking,

I loved Emmett Cullen.

He didn’t have a whole, free heart to give, and he would not be able to love me back.

I had to put a stop to it. Unequivocally. I didn’t want to risk my heart on a broken man, but even more important I could not risk the hearts of the children I had come to love. For their sakes Emmett and I had to remain friends, had to keep their stability first and foremost in our minds.

I had spent almost a year building a friendship with Emmett. We had laughed and joked together, worried about the children together, dealt with dyslexia and bras and hair-pulling together. We’d managed sick children and ski vacations, birthdays and housework and homework. Together we had created the feeling of family and love and security that the six kids involved needed more than anything, and I couldn’t bear to do something that might take that away from them. Or, take them away from me.

We couldn’t change anything between Emmett and I. It didn’t matter what secret wishes I might have had. It didn’t matter that kissing him that night had felt earth shattering. It didn’t matter that maybe I loved him in a way that felt stronger and more real and more meaningful than the way I had loved anyone else before him. Things had to stay the same.

I truly believed all that. But none of it helped to stop the rush of pure agony that cut through me like a knife. For a moment I’d held him in my arms and kissed him and felt like everything in the world was right…and I had to give up even the idea of it.

I slept badly and woke early with a pounding headache. I threw back some Tylenol and walked slowly through the early morning cold to the assisted living facility and down the hallway to my mom’s room. Even then, almost completely lost to the disease that had ravaged her mind, she still kept to her lifetime routine of early rest and early rising and was already awake.

“Hi Mom,” I said softly. “How are you?”

I could never stop myself from hoping that she’d answer. She didn’t speak by that point, and my rational mind knew that she was never going to again, but there was always just a tiny flare of hope that she would turn to the sound of my voice and greet me again.

But she didn’t, of course. I opened the blinds so that the early morning light filtered into her room, and quickly checked that she was clean and comfortable before I raised her bed to the upright position and sat beside her. Her hand in mine felt impossibly fragile, and I gently lifted it to my lips and kissed her dry skin. “I love you Mama.”

There was a noise behind me and one of the aides came into the room. “Oh, hi Angela, how are you? I’ve got your mom’s breakfast here; did you want to give it to her or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” I took the shake, which the only thing my mom was able to take, and the protective bib. “Thank you.”

It was a slow process helping mom drink. She didn’t struggle or resist anymore, but sometimes she’d forget what she was doing and it would all just dribble out, and there were frequent issues with coughing and choking. Not for the first time I thought about the juxtaposition in my life of watching my mom losing skills while the kids I nannied for gained them. Mom was struggling with even the lidded cup I was using, while Holly was learning to drink from an open cup instead of her usual sippy cup. Mom was back in a bed with rails, while Bram and Zeke were moving onto their big boy beds.

Their big boy beds…last night…

“I kissed Emmett last night,” I said softly. “I wish you could talk about it with me. I don’t know what to do…well no, that’s not true. I know what to do. I just don’t want to do it.” I swallowed hard. “I love him Mom. The way he kissed me, it really felt like…but it’s just impossible. I have to tell him that.”

The idea of talking to Emmett made my headache intensify, and after a moment’s hesitation I put down Mom’s nearly empty cup and picked up my phone.

“Esme? It’s Angela…I was just wondering if you’d be able to go out to Emmett’s today? I’m not feeling that well. If you can’t that’s okay, I’ll manage, but…”

“Oh Angie, I’m sorry that you’re not well,” Esme said. “I hope it’s nothing serious? Don’t worry about work, I don’t have anything on today that can’t be put off, so I can take care of the children.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. And it’s nothing serious, I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow…” I could feel tears prickling at my eyes.

“Well, see how you feel. Just rest and look after yourself.”

I hung up the phone feeling worse than before. Esme was always so kind and considerate, and here I was basically lying to her. Yes, I had a headache and didn’t feel great, but I knew the real reason I’d asked her to sub in for me was because I didn’t want to face Emmett.

He didn’t feel the same way though. Late afternoon there was a knock on my door, and when I opened it my heart lurched because there he was. He didn’t say anything, just stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his blue eyes gazing at me pleadingly.

It was almost enough to bring me to my knees, but… _we can’t do this._

“You’d better come in.”

Emmett followed me to the kitchen, and I saw the look of concern on his face deepen when he took in the opened moving boxes and the stacks of dinnerware spread out on the table. “You’re packing?”

“I’ve started sorting things out. Mom’s getting worse – she’s never coming home again, and at some point I’m going to have to sell the house to pay the nursing home fees. She and my dad never threw anything away, so it’s going to take me forever to go through it all…” I broke off my rambling. “But you didn’t come here to talk about that.”

Emmett sat down at the table. “You didn’t come to work.”

“No. I’m sorry about that, I hope you don’t mind too much. I wasn’t feeling that great, but I should have called you, not just left it to Esme.”

Emmett’s fist drifted towards his mouth, and then he blurted out, “Please tell me you’re not going to leave us. I’m sorry I…I’m sorry about last night.”

“You don’t need to apologise. It was as much my fault as yours.” My heart heavy, I turned away so that I didn’t have to look at him. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his face.

“I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean to. I would never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, I hope you know that. So, I’m sorry that I’ve made everything so awkward. Please, please, don’t let this be the end of everything.”

The stilted words didn’t really sound like Emmett. For a moment I wondered what he really thought. What if kissing me hadn’t just been about loneliness, and proximity, and friendliness mistaken for more?

But there was Rosalie. There was Emmett’s dead wife, and his broken heart, and the unfathomable mountain of grief he was climbing…and I could not be a failed experiment with his heart. Not when I’d already lost so much.

“I’m not going to quit my job.” I turned back to face him. “I care about you and the kids a lot. Maybe too much, I sometimes think, but I’m not going to leave you all.”

“Thank you.” His eyes dropped.

I hated seeing him looking so defeated. “Emmett, about last night…you didn’t do anything that I didn’t want. I wouldn’t want you to think that you did. But it can’t happen again. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Emmett said flatly.

“It’s just not a good idea,” I said quietly. “You and the kids are like my family now; I want the best for everyone, and I won’t do anything to jeopardise that. You and I doing…anything…it just can’t happen.”

For a moment I thought he was going to bite right through the skin on his knuckles, and I almost reached out to pull his fist away from his mouth. But then he took a deep breath and smiled, or at least tried to.

“You’re right. What we’ve got works…I don’t want to change that. I don’t want the kids to lose you. I’ll forget about last night if you will.”

The pain of it was indescribable. This is what I’d wanted, what I knew I had to do, but just because it was the safe and sensible and right choice, didn’t mean that it wasn’t a painful one.

“I think that’s best. I’m sorry I called off work today, but I didn’t sleep well last night and I had a headache. I’ll be back tomorrow, like usual.”

“See how you’re feeling. Esme doesn’t mind helping out and I can reschedule work if it comes to that.” Emmett rose awkwardly to his feet. “I guess I should get back and help Esme with dinner.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I walked him to the front door and watched as he trudged down the walk to his minivan. My heart felt heavier every second as the distance between us grew. He drove away without looking back, and I sank to the floor and hugged my knees and wished with all I had that things could have been different.

_________________________________________________

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Standing beside the departure gate at the airport, Isaac looked at me worriedly. “I’ve got to get back for work but…you could come stay? Take a few days off? I just don’t know about you being in the house alone right now.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. The house…Mom hasn’t lived there for months, so it’s not going to feel different now.”

“I suppose not,” Isaac sighed. “There’s no hurry about packing it up to sell either – I know you’ve been working on it, but you can leave it until Josh and I can come out for a long weekend and help you.”

“I don’t mind. It keeps me busy. Between that and the kids, I don’t have a lot of time for worrying, and I think that’s probably a good thing!” I tried to laugh.

“I’m glad you like your work family so much. That little one’s a cutie, and the dad…is there something…” Isaac stumbled to a stop. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I just worry about you.”

I thought back to the funeral, to Holly’s comforting weight on my lap and Emmett’s hand holding mine so tenderly, a lifeline in the sorrow. “You don’t need to worry,” I said slowly. “Emmett and I…we’re there for each other.”

“That’s good.” Isaac looked up as his flight was called again. “I guess that’s it…I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.”

I hugged him goodbye and watched him walk through the gate. He turned at the last minute and waved again, and I did my best to smile at him as I blew a kiss. Isaac was an adult who stood taller than me now, but in some ways he and Josh would always be the two baby brothers I’d first loved as I held them in my lap.

It was true when I’d told Isaac that the house had stopped feeling like Mom’s home months before. But it was also true, when I pulled up in front of the dark house and thought about the emptiness inside, that I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. Suddenly I felt it all, the staggering weight of all that I’d lost, not just burying my mother today but all the others that I’d had to say goodbye to, and it was unbearable. Without another thought I jerked the car back into drive and headed for the only person I knew would be able to make me feel better.

Emmett must have heard the car, because he had opened the door and was waiting there for me as I mounted the porch stairs. This time I didn’t say what I thought I _should_ say, I didn’t say what I thought was sensible…I said what was in my heart.

“I’m sorry. But I was all alone at home and I couldn’t…please can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

Emmett didn’t say anything, but he held out his arm and I stepped into them, and for that moment, it was enough.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._ “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” _I love you. I love you. I love you._

“Don’t apologise.” His hands, so big and yet so gentle, smoothed back my hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Josh and Megan and Isaac all left tonight. They had to get back. So it was just me at the house and it all hit me…they’re all gone. My mom, Micah, my dad…there’s _no one_ anymore. My brothers love me and we’re good friends, but they have their own lives in a different state. I felt so alone! I couldn’t stand it, and all I could think of was to come here to you…” Tears blurred my eyes, and I hid my face against his shoulder.

“It’s all right…it’s all right…” Emmett murmured, curving his hand around the back of my head and holding me close. He held me patiently, without rushing, until I raised my head and then he took my hand and led me inside. Down the dim hallway, past the living room, and towards the light that spilled out from the doorway of his bedroom.

It took me a moment to fully absorb the changes in Emmett’s room. It was cleaner than I’d ever seen it and, even more than that, all the remnants of Rosalie’s life seemed to be gone. “It looks different in here…you reorganised everything.”

“Yeah, Esme and Alice helped me do it at Christmas. I packed away some of Rosalie’s things for the kids and donated the rest…it was more than time.”

“It looks nice.” I reached for a tissue and cleaned my tear smudged glasses, trying to regain some composure. “I’m sorry I just turned up on your doorstep to weep on your shoulder.”

Emmett sat beside me, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m glad you’re here…I want you here all the time.” His cheeks reddened. “I just mean, any time you want to be here. I don’t like to think of you being alone and unhappy – don’t ever think that I won’t do anything I can for you.”

Exhausted, I rested my head against his shoulder. “I loved my mom so much. She was my biggest role model growing up, I never felt anything but loved and wanted and cherished, and she became such a good friend when I grew up. I would never have got through losing Micah without her. And she’s really been gone for a long time already, I know that…but this still hurts so much.” 

Emmett’s arm settled around me, and I felt the press of his cheek against the top of my head. It was comforting without being intrusive, and I closed my eyes and felt my tension drain away.

_You feel like home._

As I relaxed, I could feel the exhaustion slipping over me and without meaning to, I yawned.

Emmett squeezed me a little more tightly. “You should try and get some sleep. You can sleep in here, I can…whatever you want. Stay with you, or I’m happy to go sleep on the sofa or in Zeke’s bed, he’s in with Bram so it’s no big deal…”

I was too tired and too raw to pretend that I didn’t need him. “Stay with me. Please.”

“Okay. Sure.” Emmett swallowed hard, and I felt my heart soften even further towards him as I saw that flash of vulnerability. “Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?...Here you go. I’ll just go clean my teeth so you can get changed.”

Alone, I changed quickly and lay down in bed. After spending nearly two years sleeping on my old twin bed in my mom and dad’s house, Emmett’s king-sized bed felt enormous. It reminded me of climbing into my parents’ bed when I was a child, and the way the big space had always made me feel so safe and comfortable and surrounded by love. It made me think of being married to Patrick too, and all the nights when Micah would crawl in beside me too, and once again I felt the endless well of my grief. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, and dripped hopelessly down into my hair and ears as I stared at the ceiling.

Emmett came out of the bathroom and slid into bed beside me. He switched off the light and then, as darkness washed over us, he reached for me. “Come here baby.”

I didn’t hesitate, rolling towards him and burying my face in his chest, sobbing unrestrainedly as he wrapped me up tight in his arms. And even though the grief was still there, the gnawing, aching pain of loss deep inside…I didn’t feel alone. Not while Emmett was there, kissing my head and rubbing my back and rocking me against him. He didn’t try to make me stop, he simply offered me the solace of his arms and heart and love.

Because I could see it, there in the dark…what we had was love. It was born out of mutual understanding, a tentative friendship that had strengthened and deepened until it bloomed into something more. I’d shied away from that truth before, but curled up in bed and feeling surrounded by him, I finally let myself feel it.

 _I love you._ The words echoed in my head as Emmett’s heart beat steadily against my cheek, and I drifted off to sleep. _I love you._

I woke first in the morning. For a moment I thought Emmett was awake too, as he rolled over and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against the curve of his body. But then he sighed, his breath warm on my neck, and sank back into a deeper sleep.

I didn’t want to move. The solid warmth of him, the intimacy of his thighs against mine and his chest against my back and his lips on my shoulder…I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so tranquil and safe. I touched his hand, tucked in against my ribs, and smiled to myself.

Emmett woke later, and when I felt him move I immediately rolled over to face him.

“Good morning.” I smiled, half anxious as to how he would react to being there with me, but as soon as I saw the way his eyes softened as he looked at me I knew that whatever had changed when I ran to him to previous night was going to stay changed.

“Hey you.” Emmett reached out and stroked my face. “How are you? Sleep okay?”

“I did actually. I guess I was really exhausted.”

He smiled sympathetically. “Yesterday was a hard day.”

I thought about the funeral, about burying my mother, about the aching and endless loneliness that had brought me here to him. “Thank you for last night. I was so sad, and you were all I wanted.” I could feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. “I hope you don’t mind that I came to you. I know I pushed you away that other time and said…well, I said a lot of things. But it was never that I didn’t want…you…or this…”

I couldn’t even begin to say how much I wanted him, in every way. The reasons I had held myself at a distance were valid issues that we would have to deal with, but I also knew that what I felt for him and what I thought he felt for me was strong enough and meaningful enough that we _could_ deal with them.

“I am always here for you. Whenever ever you need me, whatever you need…” he said hoarsely.

“I know.”

And this time I was the one who closed the gap between us and kissed him.

_Oh, you are everything!_

“Angela…Anya…” Emmett murmured against my mouth, and kissed me again, and then suddenly we were laughing, breathless and happy, feelings too big and too strong to know what do with them.

Emmett’s eyes were bright as he cupped my face in his big hands and said, “I love you. I do. And now is not the time to talk about that, I know…now is _really_ not the time to talk about that.” He sighed, as through the baby monitor behind him we heard Holly’s sing-song murmuring. “And I know there’s a whole load of complications here but at the heart of it all, I love you. And I think you feel…something.”

For a moment there was a flash of uncertainty on his face, and I couldn’t bear to think that he doubted me. I hugged him closer again, and nodded into his neck. _Yes, I feel something…much, much more than just ‘something’._

Emmett’s laughter rumbled in his chest. “Good. I love you. I want you. And I think we owe it to ourself to figure this out. Not now, but…soon.”

The lights flashed on the baby monitor. “Da-da…da-da!” As Holly called out again, Emmett kissed me one last time and slid out of bed. “I’ll get Holly. What do you want to do? Head off home now? Or do you want to have breakfast with us? You’ve got a change of clothes here.”

“What about the kids? Won’t they ask questions if I’m here at breakfast?” I asked uncertainly.

Emmett, halfway into a pair of sweatpants, paused. “You could just say you came over early?” he said eventually. “I don’t think any of them are up yet, so if you’re dressed and out in the living room they probably won’t question it too much.” He grinned at me. “I’ll grab your spare clothes for you.”

I knew it wouldn’t be the best idea for the kids to discover I’d slept over without Emmett and I talking it over first and deciding how we should handle it, but I didn’t want to leave him. “Okay, thank you.”

A moment later he tossed the bag I kept my spare clothes in onto the bed, and then hurried back out. As I climbed out of bed I heard Holly’s delighted crowing from the baby monitor, and I couldn’t stop the smile as I heard Emmett answering her.

“Jellybean! Hello baby girl…and isn’t it a beautiful day?”

 _Yes. It absolutely IS a beautiful day._ Still smiling, I picked up my clothes and went to the bathroom to get ready for it.

_________________________________________

Holly said it first. _Mommy._

Beautiful Holly-bean, who had never known any other mother than me. It was only a few months after I’d moved in with them all. We were in the family bathroom after swimming lessons, drying off the children, talking about the rest of the day. Nothing special. Emmett picked up the hairbrush and beckoned to Holly, but she shook her head and held out her hand for the brush. _No,_ she told him. _Mommy do it._ And she looked at me. _Two pigtails Mommy, okay?_

We never really knew what prompted it. None of the other kids used the word then, and neither Emmett not I had ever even hinted at it. But somehow Holly decided on her own that I was her Mommy, and that she’s what she called me from that point on. I hadn’t thought about the children calling me anything but my name before Holly said it, but to hear that word again, the name _Mommy_ being mine again over six years after the last time I heard it from my own Micah’s lips…I did the requested pigtails with tears blurring my vision, and I don’t know that my heart had ever felt quite so full.

Emmett and I got engaged soon after, and as part of planning the wedding and our future he had begun talking of adoption. _I love what you are to them,_ he told me. _I want to make it official. Nothing will ever erase Rosalie, but she’s gone and I want them to have a mom. They love you, and I want to give them the gift of knowing that you will always be here, that you CHOOSE them, that you choose our family and you choose forever. And I want to give you the security of knowing that they’re yours, that no matter what happens to me you will always be their mother. We’ll have to talk it over with them, but I know how much they love you and I want to do this._

Noah barely let the word adoption come out Emmett’s mouth before he asked if that meant he could call me Mom. I’d always known how deeply he missed having a mother after Rosalie was gone, and I’d seen the mingled uncertainty and longing on his face when he had watched Holly call me Mommy. I told him right away that I would be honoured if he would call me Mom and so he did, about a hundred times a day, and once again I felt my heart grow.

Bram and Zeke started called me Mommy next. Like so many other things they did in unison, they made the switch at the same time. They were on the trampoline, jumped up and cracked their heads together, and then the two simultaneous, sobbing cries. _Mommy!_ _Mommy, owie! Kiss it better Mommy, please._ And I gave them all the kisses they wanted, thanking God for the blessing of these little boys in my life. My sons.

It was never a big deal to Mac. He called me Mom, casually and without fanfare, but he also called me Angie, or Anya, or Mother Superior, or Your Honour, or Lieutenant Commander, or Lady Admiral…well, you get the idea. He made me laugh, and I loved the simplicity of his acceptance and the openness of his heart to me.

Daisy didn’t call me Mom for seventeen years. It never mattered to me. I loved being her mother and I knew she loved me. Our bond was strong and unique right from the start, and I had never needed the title to formalise our relationship.

The funny thing was, when she finally did call me Mom she gave me a whole other new title right alongside it. On that day I opened the door to a hospital room, and Daisy greeted me with the mingled tears and laughter of pure joy. _Hey Mom,_ she said. _Come and meet your grandson…his name’s Micah, after his uncle. Look Micah, it’s your Grandma._


	60. Extra- Mac and Noah's birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – This extra chapter was actually started when I was writing Where the Heart Is Now. Writing Alice giving birth to Daisy made me think about how it might be different if/when Rosalie had a baby, and this is what came out of it – a birth story of Mac and Noah. I wanted to finish it and include it here with Love Beyond though, because for me it fits in with this story. Love Beyond is all about Emmett and Rosalie’s relationship, but it’s the absence of Rosalie that defines it. I thought this scene, that shows it as it was (and offers the alternative version of a birth where Rosalie doesn’t die) might be something interesting.

“I’m home!” I toss my keys on the sideboard and head down the hall. “Hello?”

Reaching the kitchen, I stop dead in astonishment at the sight of two year old Daisy, sitting on the floor covered head to toe in flour and looking like a little ghost. As I watch she happily swirls her hands in the mounds of flour all over the floor and flings a small handful in the air so that it sprinkles down like snow. “What the…”

“Daddy!” Daisy beams at me and then flops backwards onto the flour-covered floor, energetically sweeping her arms through drifts of white. “Snow angels!”

“Does Mommy know you’re doing this?” I ask in sudden alarm. “Is Mommy even still _alive_?”

I cannot think of anything less likely than Rosalie letting Daisy make this kind of mess.

“Mommy knows.” Before I can panic too much I hear Rosalie’s exhausted voice from the living room next door. “But Mommy is also so tired and so sore that there is nothing she can do about it.”

Smiling, I go into the living room and find Rosalie lying on the sofa. “Hey beautiful girl.” I kneel beside her, kissing her and laying a hand on her enormous belly. “Hey little babies…you making Mommy uncomfortable in there?”

“I’m sorry for laying that mess on you as soon as you get home from work.” Rosalie tries to smile. “Daisy got into the bag of flour while I was in the bathroom, so it was all over her and the floor before I could stop her. I know letting her play in it just made everything worse, but she was so happy and to be honest I didn’t think I could make it down the basement stairs for the broom and back up again today.”

I gently rub her hip. “Don’t worry about it, you know I don’t mind cleaning up…all I care about is that you and Daisy are okay at the end of the day. I’m just sorry that you’re hurting. How bad is it? How was your appointment today?”

“Blood pressure, urine, weight, growth, all fine,” Rosalie reports. “Baby A is still head down and well engaged, so we’re looking good for a regular birth. Baby B is still breech. Dr Sadler says there may be room to turn him once baby A is out, but he’s comfortable with breech delivery for a second twin if it doesn’t work out that way.”

“That all sounds good. Any idea how much longer?” I rest my cheek against Rosalie’s huge belly. “You ready to leave yet, little babies? Mommy’s sick of being pregnant, and Daddy’s hanging out to meet you.” I’m rewarded with a slight twitch from underneath her taut skin.

“They know your voice.” Rosalie strokes my hair. “I should go into labour any day now. I’m thirty-six weeks today, and on ultrasound the babies are looking over five pounds. It can’t happen soon enough for me; I’m so done with this! I’m the size of a whale and everything hurts so much I can’t do anything…all Daisy does is watch tv or destroy things, and I keep bribing her with Popsicles to behave because I’m too tired to parent properly!”

She sounds near tears, which worries me. Rosalie hardly ever cries. But she’s spent thirty-six weeks growing two human babies inside her body, working for seven of those months and caring for a two year old at the same time, and everyone has a breaking point.

I kiss her belly and then kiss her forehead. “Hang in there. You’re doing an amazing job, and it won’t be long now…why don’t you go and lie down in our room for a while? I’ll clean up Daisy’s flour bomb and do something for dinner.”

Rosalie kisses back and then lets me haul her off the sofa. I see the spasm of pain cross her face as she straightens up, and I hope that labour isn’t too far off. She can’t keep this up much longer.

“Come on little flour bunny,” I say to Daisy, once Rosalie waddles off to our room. “Let’s sweep this up, and then I’ll have to put you in the shower and see if you turn into a biscuit.”

Daisy giggles, and then I convince her to hold the dustpan while I sweep up the mounds of flour covering the kitchen floor. Three rounds with the broom, then another try with the vacuum, and I think we’ll still be finding flour on the floor for a week. She must have thrown out a full bag. Showering her takes forever, as the flour is caked _everywhere_ and the addition of water just turns it into a paste that sticks to her body and glues her hair together. But eventually she’s all pink and clean, and I turn the water off and wrap her in a towel.

“No biscuit,” she tells me, inspecting her hands. “Only Daisy.”

“Well that’s good, because if you were a biscuit then Daddy would have to…eat you!” I blow raspberries into her neck and pretend to nom on her scrawny little arms and she shrieks and laughs until I’m laughing too much to do it anymore. This little girl lights up my world. “Come on little bug, let’s go and make some dinner for Mommy.”

Rosalie barely eats any dinner, but at this point in her pregnancy there’s not exactly a lot of room in her belly for food. Daisy, who at two seems to exist on three grapes and a cracker per day, doesn’t eat much either. Once they’ve finished they go into the living room to read, while I clean up the kitchen again.

In the living room I find Rosalie reading to Daisy from a position on the floor on her hands and knees. “My back,” she says to me, briefly interrupting her reading. Daisy, who doesn’t seem to find this peculiar at all, is sitting beside her gently stroking Rosalie’s ponytail and chiming in with the story anytime she knows the words.

I kneel behind Rosalie, massaging her lower back and listening to her read until Daisy starts yawning. Then I take over, cleaning Daisy’s teeth and tucking her into bed, sitting beside her and singing until she starts to drift away. I can hear Rosalie in the bathroom, and when Daisy is settled I go in to make sure she’s okay. She’s in the tub, laying half on her side in a way that looks awkward, the faucet blasting onto her lower back.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” Rosalie wraps her ponytail around her hand and tugs at it fretfully. “I’ve had pain for weeks, but this feels kind of different.”

“Bad?” My stomach lurches. “Or do you mean, like contractions?”

Rosalie squirms. “Maybe? I can’t tell – I’ve never done this before!”

As the water rises up towards the lip of the tub I reach over and switch off the faucet. “Well, what did they say about early labour? Regular pains? Getting worse?”

“I said I don’t know!” Rosalie snaps. She closes her eyes, and for a moment we both sit in silence before she speaks again, more calmly. “The pain seems be regularly spaced out. But it’s not that bad – I thought I’d just take a bath and see if it stops.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” I ask tentatively.

“No.” Rosalie’s answer is quick. “Please stay.”

“Okay.” I settle down onto the floor beside the tub and reach for the jug we use to rinse off Daisy in the bath. Rosalie and her belly fill most of the tub, but I find enough space down by her legs to dip it into the water, filling it and pouring it repeatedly over her hips and belly when she says that it feels good. We talk, about this and that, nothing particularly important. Anything to distract her and help her relax. I tell her about work, and she tells me about Daisy doing a cartwheel in the OBs office.

“I didn’t know whether to scold her or congratulate her on how well she did,” Rosalie admits. “Jules at baby gym said they’ll bend the age rules and let Daisy join a lesson group if we want to do that after the babies are born and we’re feeling on top of it all. She’s too young – and she’s three sizes too small to fit a gym-branded leotard – but she can follow instructions and she’s potty trained, and she’s already mastered half the skills they teach in the preschool group anyway.”

“That’s great. It might be good to redirect some of that energy, and stop her trying to do somersaults off all the furniture. She can be a cheerleader like her mommy.” I’ve been watching Rosalie’s face all the time we’ve been talking, and again now I see the slight tightening of her lip and the way her focus turns inward. Pausing in my endless pouring of water, I lay a soft hand on the swell of Rosalie’s belly. “This is it, isn’t it?”

Biting her lip, Rosalie nods. “I think so. I want to wait a little longer to call the doctor, just to be sure, but these pains are regular and starting to feel stronger.”

“Okay, well…okay.” My teeth bite into my knuckles. “We’ll just…I don’t know. Keep doing this I guess?” And I pick up the jug and start pouring water again.

We’re both quiet for a while then. Rosalie isn’t making any fuss, but I can tell every time a contraction comes by the subtle shift in her face and I find myself timing them with my phone on the floor beside me. They start getting closer, and I’m just about to suggest we should maybe call the doctor when she heaves herself upright in the tub.

“The water’s cold, I want to get out…help me.”

I spring to my feet and grab a towel, wrapping it around Rosalie as I help her step awkwardly over the edge of the tub. She leans into me, pressing her face against my chest, and I hold her as close as I can and tenderly kiss the top of her head.

“I love you, Rosa-girl.”

“I’m so scared.” Rosalie raises her face to mine, her dark blue eyes suddenly panic-stricken. “What if I can’t do this? What if something goes wrong? I couldn’t get pregnant…what if there was a reason? What if I can’t give birth to them either? What if I was never supposed to be a mother?”

“What if, what if…what if nothing,” I break in gently. “Beautiful girl, there isn’t anything in the world you can’t do if you set your mind to it. You’re already a mother, you’re Daisy’s momma, and you are amazing at it. You are going to be just as good at being momma to these babies too.”

“But this birth…” Rosalie says, her face contorting as another contraction catches her.

“You’ll do fine,” I say reassuringly, rubbing her back and arms through the towel to dry her off. “It’s going to be a bit of hard work, admittedly, but when it’s over we’re going to have two baby boys to go along with our gorgeous Daisy Jade.” I drop to my knees, kissing her belly and briskly drying her legs. “Okay little babies, time’s up. Sheriff’s at the door and you’re being evicted – let’s get this show on the road.”

“Will you call Esme while I get ready?” Rosalie starts frantically brushing her hair and peering at her reflection in the mirror. “Ugh, there’s probably no point in doing my make-up, is there? Maybe just some mascara? At least everything’s waxed, that’s fortunate.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. She’s planning to push two babies out of her vagina in a room full of spectators – is anyone going to care about a few stray bits of body hair? “You look fine,” I say, leaving her braiding her hair and going into the living room to call Esme.

I can hear Rosalie moving around in our room, getting herself dressed and packing the few last minute items into the bag while I’m on the phone with Esme. She’s been on standby for weeks, ready to take care of Daisy when it’s baby-time, and she promises she’ll be at our place as soon as possible. I hang up the phone and go looking for Rosalie.

She’s in Daisy’s room, standing by the bed and gripping the iron headboard, her whole body rigid and her eyes closed. Daisy’s asleep, curled up on her side with a stuffed monkey in her arms.

“Breathe,” I remind her, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Daisy. “Esme and Carlisle are on their way – do you need to call the doctor?

A few seconds later Rosalie exhales, visibly relaxing as she opens her eyes. “I called the hospital to say we were heading in, and I left a message for Dr Sadler.” Rosalie looks down at Daisy. “My beautiful baby girl…what are we about to do to her?” She stoops a little clumsily and brushes Daisy’s fair hair away from her forehead. “It’s ridiculous, but I feel so guilty! Two babies to take attention away from her.”

“You’re giving her a gift,” I say. “Seriously. Siblings are great – can you imagine our lives without Alice and Edward?”

“Well, maybe Edward…” Rosalie giggles, although her laughter cuts out abruptly and her grip on the bedhead tightens as another contraction comes.

“Standing upright and moving around a bit is making these contractions a lot stronger,” she mutters. “I’m going to leave before I wake Daisy.”

I toss the bags into the back of the minivan and lay a plastic sheet and a towel over the passenger seat in case Rosalie’s water breaks on the way. For a moment I stare into the backseats, at Daisy’s carseat and the two baby bucket seats we installed a few days ago, and try to make it seem real. After all this time of trying, after Daisy’s adoption and the two failed IVF attempts before we finally got lucky, we’re going to have _three_ kids. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, my beautiful wife and some babies to help make up our family…

We’ve just got to get through this bit first.

Rosalie is in the middle of another contraction when I go back inside, hands braced against the kitchen table and her eyes closed. But she’s breathing evenly, and she smiles at me as it passes. “It’s all good – I can do this.”

We don’t really know what to do while we wait for Esme and Carlisle. Rosalie lumbers restlessly through the house, randomly picking things up and then setting them down, her other hand curved under her belly. Every time a contraction hits she stops and focuses on that, and I bite my hands and wish Esme would hurry up. I hate watching Rosalie hurt and feeling helpless to do anything about it, and I know that this is only the beginning.

“How are you?” Esme and Carlisle arrive sooner than I had expected, basically ignoring me and heading straight for Rosalie. “Feeling strong?”

“I’m…” Rosalie’s words break off as the next contraction grips her, and I know this one must hurt as her eyes shut tight and she unconsciously reaches out. Carlisle takes her hand, and her fingers tighten convulsively around his.

“Sorry,” she mutters when it’s over.

“It’s all right,” Carlisle says gently. “You’re doing well.”

“And you criticised my driving! I _told_ you we had to hurry!” Esme says to him, and Carlisle grins at her.

“It would have done Rosalie no good if we had had an accident on the way over!” He pats Rosalie’s hand affectionately before he releases it. “Although I do think you and Emmett should probably leave for the hospital now.”

It’s a pretty quiet drive to the hospital. Rosalie endures a couple more contractions, clearly very hard and painful ones, but when we reach the hospital she’s the one who hugs me and asks if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I say, wrapping my arms around her with an edgy laugh. “It’s just that you look like you’re in a lot of pain and it’s hard to watch! I didn’t see any of this part when it was Alice having Daisy.” Alice had had an epidural before we arrived, and had been quite happily eating Popsicles and watching tv when we showed up at the hospital. “Just let me know if there’s anything you want me to do.”

There’s not a lot I can do for now though, beyond retrieve the bags and shepherd Rosalie through a slow journey up to the maternity wing. Once we’re there the nurses take us through into a delivery room and start setting things up, checking Rosalie’s blood pressure and temperature and inserting an IV into the back of her hand. I’m pushed aside as they get Rosalie out of most of her clothes and up onto the bed with all the monitors strapped on to track babies’ heartrates, and then there’s a brief pause as Rosalie rides out another couple of contractions and the nurses watch the heart traces.

“Everything looks good,” the nurse comments. She readjusts the straps on Rosalie’s belly. “I’ll just check your dilation quickly…you’re at a five,” she says a moment later, stripping off her gloves. “That’s great, I’ll call Dr Sadler and let him know.”

“ _Five?!?”_ Rosalie says hysterically. “ _FIVE?!?_ That’s it?!?” She thrashes in the bed for a minute as another contraction rolls through her. “That’s only halfway!”

“But that means it’s half over,” I say hastily. “And you’re doing great, so…” I stop talking as she glares at me.

“We can call down to anaesthesia and get your epidural organised,” the nurse offers. “Get you comfortable?”

“No, I’m not having one,” Rosalie says, but I can hear the sudden doubt in her voice. Planning a drug free birth before you’ve ever had a single contraction is one thing, actually going through with it might be another.

The nurse apparently agrees with that, and she almost rolls her eyes as she checks the monitors again. “Well, let me know when you change your mind. I’m going to go call your doctor.”

Rosalie scowls after her as she leaves the room. Headstrong and stubborn almost to a fault, I can see she’s taken the nurse’s words as a challenge. As the next contraction rises she breathes deeply and reaches for my hand. I wait until it’s over, and then lean forward and press my forehead against hers so that I’m looking into her eyes.

“I love you,” I say. “I absolutely believe one hundred percent that you can do this the way you want to. I’m right here with you and I’ll support you to do that, so I’m only going to say this once – you don’t _have_ to, okay? You can get the epidural whenever you want and no one is going to think anything of it, okay?”

Rosalie touches my lips. “I know. And if it gets too much, I will…but I want to try.” For a moment there’s a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. “I know everything thinks I’m crazy for wanting to do it this way. But just getting pregnant for us was so UN-natural…I got pregnant in a doctor’s rooms while you were four miles away doing a swimming lesson with Daisy! It doesn’t mean anything, I know, but I want to do this my way…please help me.”

I nod, kissing her fingers. “Then let’s do this.”

The next half hour is pretty rough. There’s a constant stream of people in and out of our room, the actual nurses assigned to Rosalie and then all the trainee midwives and doctors who want to tick a vaginal twin birth off their student bingo cards, or whatever they have. Rosalie hates reclining on the bed, and it seems like every time she moves she knocks one of the monitors out of place and people rush up to see what’s going on. Rosalie okayed the students beforehand, but as she struggles through another contraction I think she might be regretting it. With everything going on, I keep being pushed further and further away from the action until I’m leaning up against the window and chewing on my knuckles, barely able to even see Rosalie for the crowd.

It’s a relief when I finally see Dr Sadler coming in through the door. The third OB we interviewed, he’s an old-school doctor who trained with Carlisle and has been delivering babies ever since. He was the first doctor we talked to who said he wouldn’t automatically c-section for twins, and the only one who told Rosalie he would be comfortable with her trying for a natural birth.

His arrival seems to give Rosalie a little confidence, and I can see why she likes him so much as his steady manner calms the room. Seeing her struggle through another contraction on the bed, he breaks her water and attaches a scalp monitor to baby A so that she only has one lot of belly monitors to contend with, and then sets her up sitting on an exercise ball leaning her upper body on the bed. As the next contraction flows through her she rocks on the ball and breathes deeply, and seems almost comfortable.

“That looks much better,” Dr Sadler says approvingly “And now let’s give Dad something to do, can’t have him taking it easy while Mom does all the work.” He tells me where I can find heat packs, and then shows me how to press hard into the right place on Rosalie’s lower back to provide some strong counter pressure to the contractions. “Nice big hands,” he says. “That’s going to help - press in hard, don’t worry that you’re hurting her. She’ll let you know if it stops being what she wants.”

The next few hours feel almost surreal. Rosalie leans on the bed, her face buried in her arms, rocking on the exercise ball with every contraction. I jam the heels of my hands into her hips and lower back until bruises start to bloom faintly under her pale skin, but any time I try and ease off she just pushes harder back against me and demands more. The monitors continue to report regular and healthy baby heartbeats, but the constant parade of would-be doctors and midwives examining the readouts and checking Rosalie’s vitals leave me with the impression that we’re constantly seconds away from catastrophe.

I hate it. I’ve never felt so useless in my life, helplessly watching Rosalie endure a pain that seems unbearable. She makes noises that I’ve never heard a human make, and as the hours drag on she seems to completely retreat into herself. There is nothing but the endless rise and fall of the contractions, the monitors tracking the rhythm of Rosalie’s labour, her low groans and moaning wails the only sounds that I hear.

I didn’t fully understand why Rosalie wanted to birth the babies without drugs so badly. I understand it even less when I see what it’s costing her. But I see what she’s giving to this, see how much it means to her, and when the time comes that it’s all too much and she starts to fall I’m right there to catch her and carry her the last tiny way.

“I can’t do it!” Rosalie lurches off the exercise ball and half falls into my arms, dislodging both the monitors on her belly and ripping out the one that is hanging out of her attached to one of the babies’ heads. Blindly, she pushes away the medical staff who jump in to attend to her. “Don’t touch me! Don’t! I can’t…no more…NO MORE!” Her voice rises to a scream as another contraction hits, one that just seems to go on and on forever.

Like there’s no one else there in the room with us, I wrap my arms around her and duck my face to look directly into her eyes. “You _are_ doing it. And you are nearly done…you have done so well, beautiful girl, and I know it’s not fair to ask more, but you have to do this just a little longer…”

Rosalie shakes her head, but her eyes stay fastened on mine and when I smile at her I get a ghost of a smile in return.

“You’re so strong,” I say softly. “And I know you can keep on being strong…there’s nothing in the world that you can’t do when you set your mind to it, Rosa-girl. Even this,” I add, as the next contraction starts to mount and her hands dig into my arms. And for the next few, which pile on without a break, we deal with them together.

“We need you on the bed, Rosalie,” Dr Sadler tells her, as another contraction ends and she sags against me. “I’d like to check on your babies. You’re sounding a little pushy here too, so we should see how that’s going too. I think you’re very close.”

Getting her on the bed is easier said than done, but we manage. As soon as Rosalie is settled two midwives pounce on her with the handheld baby monitor things to try and find heartbeats, and Dr Sadler sits down the business end and pushes her legs apart.

“I always knew you were a show off,” I murmur in her ear. “But _this?_ ” I nod to the audience craning over Dr Sadler’s shoulders trying to desperately to see what’s going on in between Rosalie’s legs.

Rosalie giggles, a completely incongruous sound in the circumstances, but a brief and welcomed moment of levity. Especially because the next second another contraction seizes hold of her and she bends forward over her belly with a deep, growling moan.

At the other end of her Dr Sadler sits back with a smile. “Good job Rosalie. You’re fully dilated and baby A is nicely in position, so when the next contractions come you just try a few pushes and see how it feels.”

The whole energy in the room changes. Rosalie must be exhausted – it’s nearly six am and she’s been in labour since eight thirty last night – but you would never know it as she turns everything she has to pushing. Dr Sadler talks her through it, explaining everything to all the students, but I mostly tune him out. All I can think about is Rosalie, and the courage and tenacity of her as she brings our babies into the world.

The first one comes fast in the end, all of him emerging in one push, a slippery jumble of limbs and looped umbilical cord landing in the doctor’s hands. A sudden cry, a sound that stabs me right in the heart, because that’s my son.

_Hey little baby._

Rosalie and I both reach for him. I don’t know if I’m supposed to or not, but it’s the oldest and strongest instinct in the world to comfort my baby, and I take him from Dr Sadler without a word. My hands are full of the wet, sticky warmth of him, and the sound of his wailing cry is like music, because he is here and he is safe and he is ours. I lift him only enough to lay him on Rosalie’s chest, and she cradles him against her heart and our eyes meet in wonder over the head of this little boy that we’ve created.

“Oh look at him, look…you’re so beautiful, oh, you’re _here_ …hello baby little one…” Rosalie whispers.

I bend closer. The baby stops crying, furiously blinking his blue eyes against the light as he turns towards Rosalie’s voice. His eyebrows and the sparse hair on his slightly misshapen head are so fair as to be almost invisible. His eyes are wide set and blue, and even though I couldn’t point to any particular feature all I see when I look at him is Rosalie. I take one of his hands in mine and feel his tiny fingers close over my thumb.

_Hey little boy, it’s Daddy._

“Okay Rosalie, you’ve done well but that’s only half the job,” Dr Sadler tells her. “I need you to pay attention, so hand the baby to the nurse and let’s get back to work.”

With some reluctance, Rosalie surrenders our baby to the nurse. “Is the other baby okay?”

“I’m just going to check what he’s doing,” the doctor says, adding to all the students. “Watch how we go here…this is the tricky bit, as baby B suddenly has a whole lot more room to move around in there…this can work in our favour, to turn a baby who’s been in an awkward position, but sometimes they can be in a hurry and…okay, like this…I’ve got a foot.”

I make the mistake of looking down, see the tiny purple baby foot, and make a strangled noise as the world starts to waver around me.

“Someone get Dad a chair – if he goes down we’re all in trouble.”

One of the assorted spectators hits me in the back of the legs with a chair, and I sit down with a thump. Someone else slaps a cold, wet cloth on the back of my neck, but it’s Rosalie’s outraged face and her venomously hissed, “If you faint on me now I am going to _eviscerate_ you!” that really keeps me upright. 

“…we don’t need to panic, but we do need to act here…” Dr Sadler is ignoring me and talking on to Rosalie and the students. “Rosalie, I think our best way forward is to try and bring the other leg down and bring him out feet first. He’s not bigger than baby A and you delivered him easily, so I think it’ll be fine…everyone, watch what I’m doing…Rosalie, hold on, this is going to hurt.”

Whatever he does makes Rosalie’s face contort as her mouth opens in a silent scream, but I’m the one who yells as she crushes my hand in hers. All feelings of nausea or faintness vanish under the pure agony of having all the bones in my hand ground together.

“Good, good!...We’ve got another leg, well done Rosalie…footling breech delivery now, pay attention folks…easy does it…push now Mom…and again…come on little fellow, that’s it…okay Rosalie, one more big push…”

And then he’s there, our second son coming out feet first, momentarily still and grey. But Dr Sadler grabs a towel and picks him up, rubbing his back and chest briskly until the baby opens his mouth so wide it seems to fill half his face and screams. There’s a combined release of tension and a small smattering of relieved exclamations and happy laughter as Dr Sadler lays the baby on Rosalie’s chest.

“Beautifully done Rosalie…here’s your baby.”

Rosalie is laughing and crying, and I have tears in my eyes too. This baby keeps screaming, apparently outraged at being evicted from his cosy world, and Rosalie holds him closer and murmurs endearments until the wails taper off.

“Oh Emmett, look…isn’t he perfect? Hello little one…oh my baby boy, look at you…”

I wrap my arms around them both, kissing Rosalie and blinking back tears as I look at the baby. In contrast to his brother, this one has a head full of black hair and dark eyebrows that curve up in comical astonishment as he stops screaming and takes me in.

“Fuck, he looks like Alice,” I say with an incredulous laugh. “How can this baby look more like her than the baby she gave to us? That is almost exactly what she looked like as a newborn…he’s a McCarty baby if ever there was one - hairy and cranky! Too bad the Monkey nickname is already taken.”

Rosalie laughs. “Don’t call our baby names! He’s beautiful…how’s his brother doing?”

“He is beautiful,” I agree, looking over to where the first baby is being diapered and dressed. “And his brother is looking pretty happy over there. You were amazing Rosa-girl, to do what you did…” I choke up, and Rosalie reaches a hand up and touches my cheek.

“I love you.”

One of the nurses interrupts us to take the baby and do his newborn assessment, and Rosalie hands him over somewhat unwillingly. But she’s still got two placentas to deliver, and then Dr Sadler gets a needle and thread and does a little repair work, as he puts it, that he reassures Rosalie is no big deal. The babies are both weighed and measured and examined from head to toe, and then handed back to Rosalie for a three way lesson on breastfeeding. While she’s busy with that I call Esme and Carlisle and basically sob down the phone as I tell them it’s over, the babies are here, and it’s all good. Once the feeding is done Rosalie insists on having a shower, while I’m given both babies to hold while I wait for her and everyone else starts cleaning up the room.

_Hey little babies._

I can’t stop staring at the babies. My sons. It’s been over four years since Rosalie and I first decided to try for a baby, and we’ve finally done it. Twice. Two boys, baby brothers for our firstborn daughter… _my family._ I cannot believe my luck.

“Emmett?” One of the nurses touches my arm. “Your brother’s outside – he wanted me to check if he could come in and say hi. He says no problem if you’d rather wait…”

“No, tell him to come in!” I can’t wait to show my brother my babies. “Edward!”

“Emmett, I’m so…oh my gosh, look at you! Look at _them_!” Edward stops just short of my chair, half laughing as he looks at me. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you and Rosalie! I hope you don’t mind that I came up, I’m here for work but I spoke to Esme on the drive in and I thought I’d just run by and see you. It all went well? Rosalie’s okay?”

“She’s just having a shower. And it went fine…I mean, so they tell me. It looked like fucking hell on earth to me, but…Rosalie was amazing. No drugs, just like she planned. And the boys are fine. Five pound two and five pound five, they’re little but they’re in great shape. Baby A came headfirst like he was supposed to, Baby B thought he’d start off life as a troublemaker and stuck out a foot first…talk about a horror show…I thought I was going to faint.”

Edward leans closer and laughs as he points at the dark haired baby, who goes cross eyed looking back at him. “Let me guess – that one’s baby B?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, so it stands to reason he’d be the troublemaker!” Edward grins. “Whereas this little fair one is all Rosalie.”

“Rosalie and I really got one each, didn’t we?” I grin at him, and then stand up hurriedly as I see Rosalie come out of the bathroom. “Here, you sit down.”

“Rosalie!” Edward turns and holds out his arms, and she walks into them with a laugh. “Congratulations!”

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Rosalie leans against my shoulder, stroking a gentle finger across each babies’ cheek.

“They’re gorgeous,” Edward says sincerely. “And you look fabulous – clearly there’s nothing to giving birth!’

Rosalie laughs. “I don’t know that I’d say that!”

But she _does_ look beautiful. Tired, but her happiness lights her up from within in a way that goes beyond her everyday perfection. She is everything to me, and for a moment I feel tears stinging my eyes. _I love you Rosa-girl._

I think Edward notices, because he moves forward and hugs us all, he and Rosalie and I linked together with the babies in between us. “I love you guys,” he says, sounding choked up. “ _All_ of you. I’ve got to go now, but I might try and come by later on.” He kisses both babies on the foreheads. “Happy birthday, and welcome to the family!”

The nurses check in with Rosalie, who says she feels fine, and soon after we’re all moved from the delivery room into a regular room. Rosalie climbs into bed, grimacing a little as she settles, and then holds out her arms for the babies. I give them to her and then slip onto the bed beside her, wrapping her and the babies all in my arms.

“You were so amazing,” I say tenderly. “I love you so much…and look at our beautiful boys!” The babies look back at us, and I realise that they’re not completely different after all – they both have the same eyes.

“It took so long to get here, didn’t it?” Rosalie rests her head against my shoulder with a sigh. “But right now it doesn’t even matter. They were worth every single minute, all the tears, all the money, every single needlestick and hurt and having to take my pants off and open my legs in front of strangers!”

The infertility, all the medical tests and procedures, Daisy’s adoption, the IVF processes and the two failed implantations before we finally got that magic positive test. And even today, Rosalie enduring over ten hours of labour to bring them safe into the world…I laugh a little, cupping her face and kissing her again. “You were a warrior, beautiful girl. And you’re right, it’s all worth it now. You, Daisy, and these two…you’ve given me everything I ever wanted in life.”

“We need to give them names,” Rosalie says. “What do you think? Which name for which baby?”

I think of our shortlist of names and look at the two babies. “Noah,” I say, with a hand on Baby A. My finger traces the lines and curves of the name on the blanket he’s wrapped in, as I envision the way I would tattoo it. “Noah Carlisle.”

It’s funny, Carlisle is no genetic relation to these babies at all, but the fair hair and the apparent calmness with which this baby seems to be regarding the world makes me want to give him his name. My dad’s name, because he’s been the best father I could have asked for and I can only hope I will be able to live up to his example for these boys.

Rosalie smiles, and looks down at the second baby. “I get to name you then…and I want to name him something else. Something we didn’t think of before,” she says a little hesitantly.

I look at her in surprise. We’ve been debating names for six months, and I’m pretty sure that Rosalie has considered every single name in the known world. Now she’s come up with something different? “What?”

“I want to name him after you. Not Emmett,” she says hastily, as I open my mouth. “That won’t work for me. But I thought…maybe McCarty. We could call him Mac…I understand if you don’t want to. I know your relationship with your bio family was complicated and maybe the name isn’t…we can go with something else. But you gave Daisy a flower name because you wanted to name her after me, and I thought, maybe…”

I swallow a lump in my throat. _Family._ Rosalie’s not wrong that my relationship with my mother was fraught. But that name was my Grandma’s name too, my middle name since I took Cullen as a surname at my adoption, and I love the idea of connecting my past to my future. “I love it. Really. Mac it is.”

“Mac Edward,” Rosalie says, with a sudden chuckle. “As ridiculous as I would have once thought the idea of _me_ naming my baby after _Edward Cullen…_ he is your brother. Mine too now, after all these years! And I really do love him.” She kisses my neck and then snuggles the babies a little closer. “Noah Carlisle Hale-Cullen and McCarty Edward Hale-Cullen…I’m so happy, Emmett.”

I am too. Holding Rosalie and our baby twins, kissing her hair and staring at the little faces until I’ve memorised every curve and line and lick of hair. We’re only missing one thing, and she runs through the door an hour later wearing a Big Sister t-shirt and an expectant smile as she holds her arms out to me.

“Daisy-bug!” I scoop her up and give her a big hug, smiling over her head at Carlisle and Esme as they follow her in. “How’s the best big sister in the world?”

Daisy giggles. “Grandma said our babies came!” She hugs me fiercely and then stretches out towards Rosalie. “Mommy!”

“Oh my big girl, come and give Mommy a hug!” Rosalie takes Daisy onto her lap and snuggles her close. “I love you so much.”

“Did our babies really come?” Daisy asks, laying an uncertain hand on Rosalie’s belly. “Did they come out?”

The babies are asleep in their little plastic crib after having another feed, but I pick them up and carry them over to the bed. With Rosalie holding Daisy on her lap and stretching her arms around to help, I gently lay both babies kind of awkwardly on Daisy’s lap. “Say hello to your baby brothers, Noah and Mac.”

I can hear Esme taking pictures, and I’m so glad she’s capturing this moment because I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so much love. My beautiful Rosa-girl, her arms full of the family we once were so afraid we’d never have. Daisy, gazing down at the babies in wide-eyed wonder and bending low to give them kisses, and the two little boys blinking confusedly back into wakefulness. One of them yawns, and Daisy giggles and pokes at his cheek.

“He’s got a hole like Daddy,” she tells us, and I realise that she’s right and Mac’s got my dimples too. _My son._

“Emmett, hop in the picture too,” Esme directs. “One of the whole family.”

It’s no effort to hold Rosalie and my babies and smile in Esme’s direction, as Carlisle looks on and beams. This is everything I’ve ever wanted – the parents who love and care and support me unconditionally, the beautiful wife who has held my heart in her hands since we were sixteen years old, and now the three blessings that have come to join our family and make my whole world bigger again. Rosalie’s eyes meet mine over Daisy’s head, and I can tell that she feels it too.

_I love you. We have so much to look forward to!_


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last extra chapter, just some Daisy POV and a wedding. Just wanted to finish it all off with a “and they lived happily ever after”!

_ Daisy POV – 11 years old. _

“Hi Daisy. Mind if I join you?”

I throw the handful of pebbles I’ve been playing with into the stream and turn around to see Angela standing a little way away, holding a bunch of flowers. “No, that’s okay. What are you doing with those flowers? Is that my bridesmaid bouquet?” I splash back to the bank.

“It’s the same, but it’s not yours. I got the florist to make up an extra bouquet – I wanted something for Rosalie.” Angela picks up the jar of green water and mouldy dandelions that’s sitting next to me on top of my mom’s memorial rock and tips it out. “Will you hold these for me?”

I take the bouquet while Angela rinses out the jar and fills it with fresh water at the stream before taking it over to the rock and sitting it on the flattest part of the top, where Clementine won’t be able to reach it to eat the flowers.

“They’re so pretty.” I breathe in the smell of the flowers and hand the bouquet to Angela, then scramble up onto the rock. “But…don’t you think it’s kind of weird to be giving flowers to my mom on the same day you’re going to marry my dad?”

Angela laughs. “I don’t know, is it?” She starts arranging the flowers in the jar. “It doesn’t feel weird to me; I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. I feel like today wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for your mom. She’s the one who made this beautiful family that I get to be part of now, and on today of all days I wanted to take a moment to come down here and tell her again how grateful I am, and promise her again that I will always do my best to take care of you all the way she would want.”

“I think Mom would be happy,” I say shyly. “I mean, she’d probably rather be here! But since she’s not, I think she’d be glad that Dad’s happy again and that we all get to have you for our mom.”

“I hope so.” Angela leans against the rock and pats my leg. “I love all of you a lot! I really hope that Emmett and I are going to be as happy together as he was with Rosalie, and that I’m going to be a good mother to all of you.”

“You already _are_ ,” I say. “You’ve been looking after us all for ages! You know Holly and the little twins don’t even remember Mom really, and not even Mac and Noah that much. They all call you Mom…” I bite my lip and then say hesitantly, “It doesn’t matter that I don’t, does it? I know you said it didn’t, but now that you’re going to adopt us and everything…is it still okay if I just keep calling you Angie?”

“That’s absolutely fine.”

“Are you _sure_?” I look hard at her face, trying to see if she’s telling me the truth. Because even though I don’t really want to call her Mom, I really do love Angie and I don’t want to do anything that makes her upset with me or hurts her feelings.

But Angela just smiles at me, the same as always, as she reaches out and hugs me. “I’m _really_ sure,” she says gently. “I love you Daisy, and I love getting to be part of your life. And I know you love me.” She cups my face and kisses my forehead. “It doesn’t matter what you call me; what matters is what we are to each other. A name, or a title…that doesn’t matter at all.”

I smile back. “I’m really glad you’re adopting me. Even if it’s kind of weird to be adopted a second time! And I think it’s really cool that you wanted to do it today and make it part of your wedding.”

“Well, you know it’s only symbolic, we’ll have to do it all the right way with lawyers and a court order for it to be official, but I really wanted to do something today. I’m marrying your dad because I love him and want to be with him forever, but I’m also choosing you and your brothers and sister – I want you to be my family, and I want it to be forever too. I really wanted to do something to show you all just how much you mean to me, and how much I want to be your mother always.” Angie wipes her eyes and then laughs. “Gosh, how much do you think I’m going to cry today?”

I laugh too, but I don’t answer because I think if I start trying to talk then I might cry too. I still remember how horrible it was after Mom died. Our family just felt like it was so broken, and everyone was so sad that it felt like we were never ever going to be happy again. Dad tried to act normal, and maybe the boys didn’t notice anything, but half the time he was walking around like a zombie and I could tell how much he missed Mom. Angela didn’t change everything when she came, she didn’t magically make everything fixed right away, but she made it easier and then she made it better. I still get sad that my Mom died, but after all this time with Angela we feel like a regular happy family again.

“We should go back.” Angela looks up the field towards the house. “Alice and Jasper arrived just before, and it’s probably time for us to start getting ready.”

For a moment our fingers touch as we both reach out and touch the raised letters of my mom’s name on the plaque before we head back to the house. _Rosalie._ I think it’s funny the way everyone does that – there’s a lot of writing on the plaque, but my mom’s name is always much cleaner and shinier than the rest of it.

Angie and I walk up through the field towards the house. I can see the marquee for the party after the wedding set up over by the oak tree, and while I’ve been down at the stream Dad’s finished hanging up the flower garlands on the back porch where the actual ceremony is going to take place. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, suddenly conscious of my muddy bare feet, as I look at the cleanly swept steps and porch.

“Daisy Jade! How you doing?” Jasper comes out through the kitchen door and grins at me. “How can you look more grown up every time I see you? You’re going to be a beautiful bridesmaid today. Do I get a hug?”

“I don’t want to walk on the stairs, I’ll make everything dirty,” I say, indicating my feet.

“Allow me.” Jasper scoops me up in his arms, careful to keep my feet away from his suit. He kisses me on the cheek and I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tight. I love my uncle.

“All ready for today?” Jasper kisses Angie’s cheek. “Still sure you want to commit to being part of the Cullen family circus?”

“I’m nervous about the wedding,” she admits. “I never like being the centre of attention! But the marriage, being a Cullen…I’m not nervous about that at all.”

“Are you going to change your name?” I ask, as Jasper carries me up the stairs. “I never thought of it. My mom didn’t, that’s why we’re all Hale-Cullen.”

“I thought I would,” Angela says a little shyly. “I like the idea of taking your dad’s name, and also then my name will be the same as half of yours.”

Jasper holds open the kitchen door. “I’d say I hope you and Emmett are going to be very happy together, but I don’t think it’s even a question. You two are great together.” Inside, he gently sets me down on the floor and pats my shoulder.

“Angie, there you are! I’ve bought the most divine crown for your veil, I know you’ll love it, you’re going to look so beautiful! And Daisy, my delightful little darling!” Alice comes bursting into the kitchen and immediately squeezes me into a huge hug. “I’ve got a gorgeous hairstyle I’m planning for you and I borrowed a little tiara from the ballet company’s costume department, you’re going to look exquisite!”

“You look _so_ good,” I say, admiring Alice’s shocking pink suit and matching high heels. She’s even wearing a little hat with netting and feathers – she looks like an olden day movie star. “Can I try your shoes?”

“Not with those muddy feet!” Alice says. “Once you’ve had a shower you can…look at your feet! Are we the same size now?!?!? You’ve grown!”

I don’t think I have. I’m the shortest person in the sixth grade, and Mac and Noah are taller than me even though I’m two years older. But Alice is tiny like a fairy and her feet are like kid’s feet so maybe I will fit into her shoes now.

“You should go and have a shower,” Angie says to me, glancing up at the clock. “The boys must be finished by now.”

“Yes! And you need to come with me.” Alice grabs Angie’s hand. “I want to do your hair and make up. Daisy, use the hair dryer once you’re done in the shower, I’ll fix you up once I’ve finished with Angela.”

Holly’s in the bathroom when I go in, standing on the step stool and admiring herself in the mirror. She’s already wearing her flower girl dress and Alice must have done her hair first, because it’s half up and half down, curling down her back and topped with a delicate, sparkling tiara. She looks like a model out of one of Angie’s bridal magazines.

“Look how _beautiful_ I am,” Holly breathes. “Look how beautiful Alice did my hair! Look at my beautiful princess crown! And my dress is so beautiful, and look what happens when I spin around!” She jumps off the step and spins so that her dress flies out until she’s so dizzy she nearly falls into the bathtub.

She might look like a child model, but she’s not very coordinated.

“Careful.” I grab her arm. “Don’t fall down. And you shouldn’t be playing in here when you’ve got your dress on, it might get wet or get toothpaste on it or something.”

Holly staggers slightly. “Oh no!”

“You have to get out anyway, I need to take a shower.” I push her gently towards the door. “Go and ask Jasper to read you a story.”

After my shower it takes forever to dry my hair, but I make sure I do it properly and then I run upstairs to get dressed. I love my bridesmaid dress; Angie let me and Bella pick the colour and Bella said I could have whatever I wanted, so it’s purple and the prettiest dress I’ve ever had. I also have new shoes with the highest heel Angie and Dad would let me have (which isn’t very high, I don’t know why they’re happy for me to do backflips on a high beam but they think I’ll break my ankle on a _shoe_ ) and my first proper grown up bra.

“Daisy-bug, can I come in?” Dad knocks on my door.

“Sure.” I do up the buckle of my shoe and then stand up and strike a pose. “How do I look? Alice still has to do my hair, but does my dress look nice?”

“You look beautiful.” Dad puts his hand to his heart. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

At first I think he’s joking, but then he keeps blinking and he’s doing that lopsided smile that means he’s trying not to show that he’s got feelings. “Oh, Dad, don’t…”

He laughs at that, and sits on my desk chair. “All right, sorry, I’ll be tough and sensible. But Daisy…you really do look beautiful.”

I put my arms around his neck and kiss him on his nose. “And you look good in your suit. Exactly like you should look for a wedding.”

“Excellent. That’s just the look I was going for, groom at a wedding.” Dad reaches into his pocket. “I’ve bought you a present.”

It isn’t wrapped, so I can see right away that it’s going to be jewellery. I open the little velvet box and find a necklace, with three silver hearts hanging from a delicate chain. The hearts all have a different coloured stones in the centre, and some engraving along one curved side. “Thank you, I love it!” I lift it closer so I can read the tiny letters.

“Angie said you needed a necklace to wear with your dress,” Dad says. “I wanted to get you something special, to remember the day, so I picked that. The hearts are for each of your moms. Their birthstones…”

_Alice. Rosalie. Angela._

“It’s really pretty.” My voice shakes a little bit, but Dad’s already pulling me close for a hug, holding me tight when I hide my face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I say, even though I don’t know if he can hear me. “I really do love the necklace.”

“It’s fine.” Dad kisses my head. “It’s that kind of day.”

When I’m sure I’m not going to cry, I stand up and open the jewellery box, gently taking out the necklace. “Can you help me do this up?”

“Sure.” My dad’s hands look way too big for the tiny clasp, but when I hold my hair out of the way he gets it fastened around my neck in a second. When I turn around to show him how it looks, lying just below the hollow of my throat, he has the same lopsided smile on his face. “Perfect.”

“You don’t think it’s too weird to have three moms and be adopted twice?”

Dad laughs. “Not at all. You’re lucky – three of the most amazing women I’ve ever known all belong to you.” He hugs me again. “Although I think I’m really the lucky one, getting to have you.”

“And Angela.”

“That too.” Dad shakes his head. “Unless she takes her chance and ditches me at the altar.”

“You don’t have an altar; you’re getting married on our back porch!” I giggle. “And I don’t think that would ever happen anyway.”

“Not a chance.” Alice appears at my bedroom door, hauling a cosmetics suitcase behind her. “Angie is now all made up and dressed and styled, and you are going to have one absolutely gorgeous bride walking down the aisle to you, brother dear.”

“I can’t wait,” Dad grins.

“Now you have to get out of that chair so I can work on Daisy,” Alice says, waving her hands imperiously.

“Okay, okay. Not too much make-up though, she doesn’t need it.” Dad boops me on the nose and stands up. “You’re perfect just as you are.”

As soon as he’s gone I heft Alice’s suitcase up onto my bed and open it. It’s crammed with cosmetics palettes and hair products and nail polish and jewellery boxes. “Don’t pay any attention to Dad. Put as much make-up on me as you want – I want to look really glamourous!”

Alice giggles. “You’re going to look stunning. Grab that tiara and I’ll get started on your hair.”

I find a plastic box holding the tiara and gently take it out. It looks like it’s made of spun silver, and reminds me of snowflakes as it catches the light and sparkles in my hands. “Are these real jewels?”

“Good lord no, I’m not your Grandma Lily,” Alice says in amusement, reaching past me for a hairbrush and curling iron, and several packets of hairpins. “They are pretty good fakes though, don’t you think? I borrowed them from a costumer friend who works with a ballet company, they’re from the Snow Queen. Sit up here now, let me do this.”

I watch our reflection in the mirror as Alice starts briskly curling and pinning my hair. Sometimes I do this when we’re together, looking to see if there’s anything about us that is the same. It’s hard to imagine that once I was just a tiny little tadpole baby growing in her belly. I wonder if she ever thinks about it too.

“Did you know, I was exactly your age when your dad got married the first time?” Alice says, stepping back and eyeing me critically.

“Really?” I wince as Alice unpins half my hairstyle and starts redoing it.

“Yes, I was eleven and completely beside myself when Rosalie asked me to be a junior bridesmaid. My dress was pink, and completely encrusted with Swarovski crystals – it weighed a ton.”

“It’s still in the closet at Grandma’s house; she let me try it on one day,” I tell her. “It felt like I was wearing a bulletproof vest.”

Alice laughs. “I loved it. I felt so grown up and beautiful, even next to Rosalie who basically eclipsed the stars with her exquisite bridal perfection!” She sighs a little. “It still seems rather surprising, when I remember that day, that today I’m going watch Emmett get married to someone else.”

“But you think it’s good, right?” I say a little anxiously. “Dad marrying Angie?”

“Oh yes!” Alice says emphatically. “I love the two of them together! I love the way they’ve found each other after so much sadness – I’m so glad they’re going to get a happy ending. I’m also very glad that you and your sister and brothers are going to have a mommy again, and that Angie is going to be such a good one.”

“I asked Dad if he and Angie were going to have a baby together and he said no,” I say.

“Well, they probably have their hands full already with six of you,” Alice says.

“I thought Angie might want to have another one, since her little boy died. But she said she’s happy to be an adopted mom, like Grandma.” I fiddle with my new love heart necklace. “I’m kind of glad. We have enough kids already, and I wouldn’t want to have to share a room with Holly or a new baby.”

Alice chuckles. “I don’t blame you.”

“Do you think _you_ would ever like to have a baby?” I ask a little tentatively. “I mean, one that you keep.”

“You make it sound like I gave you away on Craigslist,” Alice makes a face at me in the mirror, and I can’t help laughing.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I hope not! And in answer to your question, no. I’m perfectly satisfied with a life that doesn’t include being a mother.” Alice pauses for a moment, before she says cheerfully, “I am very, very glad that I had you though. As difficult as it was at the time, you’re one of my very favourite people and I think the world is a far better place because you’re in it!” She laughs and wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing her cheek against mine so that we’re both looking at each other in the mirror. “Darling Daisy, I adore you. I love being your auntie and you know I’m always here for you...and I think your life with Emmett, with Rosalie and now Angela, is much better than anything I could have done for you. It takes more than love to be a good parent, and they all have what it takes.”

I squeeze her arm. My adoption has never been a secret and we’ve talked about it or referred to it a lot over the years, but I realise that this is maybe the first time that Alice and I have ever talked about it in this kind of grown up way. I like feeling like she trusts me, and isn’t treating me like a little kid.

Holly comes into my room and immediately zeroes in on Alice’s cosmetics suitcase. “Can I have some?” She reaches for a palette full of neon eyeshadow colours. “This one? I’ll look so, so beautiful…”

“Don’t touch that!” Alice shrieks.

Holly stops dead, her lip quivering.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to shout at you!” Alice swoops down and gives Holly a big hug. “But we don’t want to get any make up on your beautiful dress before the ceremony! And you can’t have any make up…Daddy will be so cross with me if I do that.”

“But I want to look beautiful,” Holly pouts. She touches Alice’s cosmetics case with the very tip of her finger. “Please Alice, please…”

“If you promise not to touch anything while I finish doing Daisy’s hair, I’ll give you some lip gloss,” Alice promises.

“And nails? Sparkly nails?” Holly bargains.

“Oh…yes, all right!” Alice comes back and picks up another hank of my hair. “Perhaps getting the three year old dressed first wasn’t the best idea?” she muses. “I didn’t know she wouldn’t sit quietly and keep herself neat!”

Holly leans against my thighs and gazes at my face as Alice finishes pinning my hair and starts attaching the tiara. “You look like a princess, just like me,” she says happily. “And Mommy has a sparkly crown too and a veil and her dress is all the way to the ground!”

“You are _all_ beautiful,” Alice says, stepping back and clapping her hands in satisfaction. “Daisy, you look divine. Let’s get some make up and finish up.”

I sit there with my eyes shut while Alice does my face. I wouldn’t exactly say I look like a super glamorous movie star when she’s done, but with my gorgeous dress and the make up and hairstyle and tiara I think I look prettier than I ever have before. Maybe even as pretty as Holly, who squeals with joy as Alice brushes some pale pink onto her nails and then swipes some shimmery stuff over her eyes. Then Alice holds Holly’s wrists like handcuffs so she can’t move her hands and mess up her polish, while I show Alice my gold medal and the two ribbons I won at the last gymnastics meet, and my book report on Tuck Everlasting that my teacher gave me an A for. Holly is telling us a long, boring story she’s made up about our donkey Clementine and our cat Aslan when we Mac comes slouching into my room.

“Dad says are you done yet? The rest of the family is here now, and he wants to get started on taking photos?”

Alice flicks one of Holly’s fingernails. “That’s dry. We’re all done.”

Holly runs ahead of me out of my room and down the stairs. “Mommy!” she shouts. “Look, what Alice did!”

“Oh, so pretty!” Angie crouches down to give Holly a hug, smiling at me over her shoulder. “Daisy, you look so grown up and so lovely!”

“I think I know who is going the win the ‘who wore it better’ poll of bridesmaid dresses.” Bella, who is Angie’s other bridesmaid, grins at me. She’s just being nice; our dresses are nearly the same, but I think it looks better on her because she’s got boobs and I hardly have anything.

“Oh Bella, your tiara!” Alice turns and bolts up the stairs. “I’ll just pin it into your hair! And Eliza sweetheart, I bought you some barrettes…”

She’s back down in a second, with a matching tiara to mine and a mouthful of hairpins, and a handful of butterfly barrettes for my cousin Eliza. Alice gets busy working on their hair, while Holly skips and twirls to show Eliza her dress and the photographer, a lady with two giant cameras slung around her neck, keeps trying a little hopelessly to usher everyone towards the door.

“Everyone looks great, so if we could just move outside and get some family photos while we’re all fresh? Please?”

“I thought the bride was supposed to be a secret from the groom before the wedding?” I ask, as Dad comes out of his room straightening his jacket and kisses Angie’s neck.

“Traditionally, yes.” Dad shrugs. “But it’s just a superstition, and I don’t think anything is going to lay some bad luck on this wedding…hey Anya?”

Angie touches Dad’s face and they look at each other in a way that’s so soppy I have to look away out of sheer embarrassment. Like, it’s all very nice they’re in love and having a wedding and I am very happy for them…but gosh, can’t they just be a little less obvious about it sometimes?

“Besides, how long do you think Bram and Zeke are going to last looking clean and smart?” Dad adds, as there’s a sudden crash from the little twins’ bedroom and one of them screams. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” he yells down the hall.

Bram and Zeke come out of their room and then I retie Zeke’s shoelaces while Dad straightens their ties and tucks in both their shirts. Angie gets Noah to put down his book, and then we all go outside for photos.

The photographer takes a thousand photos, everyone by themselves and in all different groups. I have to smile until my face hurts, but I don’t really mind. Not for this.

The guests start arriving, and while the photographer takes Dad and Angie away to do photos of just the two of them I help Grandma and Edward greet everyone and take them to where we’ve set all the chairs up. Everyone is happy and excited about the wedding and adoption, and I get a lot of hugs and congratulations. It’s nice to have so many people telling me that I look beautiful for once, since usually people always just say it about Holly.

Finally though, it’s time for the ceremony. Dad stands up on the porch and bellows at everyone to sit down, since he has the loudest voice, and everyone laughs. They laugh even more a minute later, as Holly waltzes down the aisle flinging her flower petals everywhere and Clementine trots right along behind her eating them all up. I walk next, along the aisle between the rows of chairs in our yard, then up the stairs to the back porch where Dad is already standing under the flower garland with the celebrant. Mac, Noah, Bram and Zeke are with him. Then comes Bella and Angela, and she really does look like an angel in her white dress and fancy crown and veil. Dad squeezes her hand as she climbs the steps to him, and Bella comes and stands by me. Then the celebrant clears his throat and starts the wedding.

The ceremony is just like on tv. All the bits about “gathered here to celebrate” and “to love and honour and cherish” and “to have and to hold, in sickness and in health” are all in it. And even though weddings are happy celebrations, there’s certainly a lot of crying when Dad and Angie say their vows. When the celebrant announces that they’re now married and can kiss, everyone stands up and applauds.

“Today we have watched Emmett and Angela say their vows and commit to sharing their lives with each other,” the celebrant says, and everyone quickly takes their seats again. “But today is about more than their marriage union. Today is also about the very special act of making a family.”

Every time we’ve practised this, Dad has said something different so I don’t really know what to expect when he steps forward. “A very wise person once said to me, family is just about who really loves you,” he says, and already I can see tears in his eyes. “I think that’s true. Family is the people you choose, the people who will love you and laugh with you all your life, the people who will cheer you on as you fly and be there to catch you when you fall. Family is the people who walk with you in the dark and stand at your side as you face the sun. Family is where your heart is, and my heart is right here and it is full.” His voice cracks, and for a moment he stops as he swipes a hand over his eyes. “But the other thing about love, and about family, is that there’s always room for more. And today, my kids and I want to welcome another and make our family a little bit bigger again.”

He grins, and reaches out to take Angela’s hand. “You’ve been part of our lives for over three years now. You walked through the broken pieces, and your strength and kindness and love helped us heal. You opened your arms and your heart to us, and you made our family feel whole again…we love you Anya, and today we want to make it forever.”

Angela is squeezing Dad’s hand and, even though she’s crying, I’ve never seen her smile so big.

“We want you to be our Mommy,” Holly says, wrapping her arms around Angie.

The celebrant smiles at all of us. “We’ve got some special promises to make now, don’t we kids?” He unrolls a big certificate. “The children and I worked on this together, and I’m going to read it on their behalf. Today they want to welcome Angela into their family with open hearts and full acceptance. They want to promise to love and honour her as their mother, to share their lives and their love with her from today and for all days. Kids?”

“Yes!” We all shout together.

“And Angela, do you promise to love Daisy, Mac, Noah, Bram, Zeke and Holly unconditionally and unreservedly? Do you promise to care for them, protect them and nurture them as their mother, from this day and for all days?”

“I promise,” Angela says.

To make the adoption feel more real we all wanted to sign something, just like for the wedding part, so the celebrant made the certificate with the promises on it and space for all of us to sign. Angela goes first, which is kind of funny because she has to sign her new name of Angela Cullen and for a moment she forgets how she was going to write it. I get to go next and I do my signature like I’ve been practising, with fancy capital letters and the i dotted with a daisy flower. I get a bit annoyed that instead of his proper name, McCarty Edward, Mac just writes _Mac Hale-Cullen_ , but Noah does it properly with his whole name. Bram knows the letters of his name but always puts them in the wrong order so he scrawls _BARM,_ and then Zeke just does a giant zigzag scribble across the whole bottom of the page because that’s how he thinks you’re supposed to do the letter Z. Holly makes us wait for ages while she draws a cat face, which is her favourite thing to draw. She did this every time we practised and I didn’t think she should be allowed to draw, but Dad and Angie said that since it’s not a _really_ real legal document that Holly should participate in the way that she can. And when it comes down to it and I look at all our mixed up signatures and scribbles and Holly’s funny cat face with the crooked whiskers, I’m really glad that it’s like that. Because this is who we are, right now in this moment, and I don’t ever want to forget this.

“I love you all so much,” Angela says, dropping down to her knees and holding out her arms. “And I want to tell you how grateful I am to have you all in my life, and how honoured I am that you’ve chosen me too. I promise that I will always do everything I can to live up to the trust you’ve placed in me and be the mother that you deserve. I love you…”

And even I don’t feel stupid for crying a bit now, not when everyone else is and we’re all hugging, and Angie kisses my forehead and calls me her daughter. I love that she’s going to be my mother for real and for always. Because dad is right that family doesn’t have to be blood, it can be the people you choose and the people you love and who love you, and that’s just the way I want it.


End file.
